How Should I Presume
by Changedstripes
Summary: My reimagining of the end of each episode of season two.
1. Chapter 1

_This is not a terribly imaginative concept, or title for that matter, but it is my first attempt and the result of my desire to know what was said after the camera fades out at the end of each episode, so here goes..._

**Chapter One**

_Friends? Are people less friends_

_ because one has just, at last found them?_

Ezra Pound 'Villanelle: The Psychological Hour'

"You're waving a red rag at a bull Miss Fisher, but I'm no longer in that ring."

Jack's smile was both exasperated and amused, with more than a hint of fondness, as he took a sip of his drink. He knew she was deliberately baiting him, carefully assessing his reaction despite her nonchalant grin. It should have bothered him, but the vulnerability he sensed behind her teasing, coupled with her eagerness to assess his reaction had him intrigued.

And he found, almost to his surprise, that his words did not sound hollow or forced. Saying them felt rather freeing, and the sting of watching Rosie climb into a cab with the man she had chosen to replace him had faded upon entering Miss Fisher's parlour. Of course it rankled seeing Sidney Fletcher do his best to make it subtly clear Rosie was now with him, but Jack was not by nature a jealous man. He had been sincere when he wished her all the best.

And there was also the curious sense of relief he felt at no longer feeling responsible for his ex-wife's happiness, or lack thereof. He still didn't know what to make of that.

Truth be told, he had been more bothered by the awkwardness the case had created between him and Phryne. At times during the investigation it had almost seemed like they were on opposing sides and that was not a feeling he was used to these days. Once he had reluctantly accepted her inevitable interference in his murder cases, he had come to enjoy being challenged by her. His seniority at the Station meant his men seldom questioned his opinions, and his natural reserve and fiercely guarded dignity kept everyone else at bay.

Phryne, of course, didn't heed any of his 'keep away' signals. She positively delighted in crashing through the barriers he erected around himself. She was bold, fearless and completely unfazed by his prickly resistance to her interference in his investigations, and later, in his life. He could throw all manner of harsh rebuffs at her and she never seemed to take offence - something that impressed and exasperated him in equal measure.

He hadn't realised how much he had come to not only enjoy, but to depend on the good-natured bickering they engaged in, until he found himself genuinely at odds with her assessment of a crime scene. The worst of it was she had a point. He was in danger of letting his personal involvement cloud his judgment.

Jack's heart had sunk when he heard her cheery greeting upon arriving at George's house. "Please not here," he said silently as he steeled himself to enter his former father in law's house, now the scene of a brutal murder. He was acutely aware of the smell of her perfume as he stared down the sneering officer who reluctantly acceded to his swift efforts to take charge. If only Phryne was so easily deterred.

It was unsettling having the old and new collide like that. His ex-wife standing next to the woman who had superseded her in his thoughts, in her father's parlour. George staring grimly at him from his hospital bed, expecting him to be the same, tired beaten down man he had been since the war. Except he wasn't so tired and beaten down these days.

And there was Phryne, with her outlandish theories of autoerotic asphyxiation that angered him because he couldn't easily discount them without further investigation. Phryne, baring her breasts to him and a roomful of onlookers and later pressing them into his face. She was having fun when she waved her fans at her appreciative audience, but he knew how serious it was for her.

It shouldn't be possible, he thought, to feel so close to this woman he hardly knew, who was such a fleeting presence in his life. Not when he had spent sixteen years never getting close enough to his wife. Standing at the mantelpiece in her parlour he thought of all the things he had never told her. All the things he kept hidden from everyone.

"Rosie's brother was killed on the Somme."

He had no idea why he blurted that out, but 10 years was a long time to keep everything bottled up. "I just didn't want you to think she came through the War unscathed," he said cryptically.

"I wouldn't presume to think she did," Phryne said, her voice also unreadable.

"I don't think she ever got over it. He was the eldest. The treasured only son with three younger sisters. You can imagine how they doted on him." Jack attempted a smile, but it came off more as a grimace.

"And you, Jack; were you close to Rosie's brother?"

He huffed a derisive laugh. "Not particularly. Ted hated me on sight because I was the upstart subordinate of his father's from Richmond who dared to court his sister."

Phryne smiled sympathetically. "It could have been worse. You could have been from Collingwood.

Jack grinned at that. "You may have a point, Miss Fisher. As it was, he never let me forget about the Richmond part. You could say, I found Ted to be thoroughly unpleasant. But," his face grew serious, "Rosie was very fond of him."

"She must have been devastated when she got the news."

"Yes." Jack closed his eyes, for a moment. He felt slightly disloyal talking to her about Rosie, but he couldn't seem to stop. "I remember the letter she wrote after they received the telegram. Of course I had already heard, and I knew Rosie and her family would be distraught, but I just couldn't summon any shock or sadness. Men were dying all around me." He looked deeply ashamed of himself. "Men who I actually liked and respected." This was uttered so faintly it was barely audible.

"Oh, Jack." Phryne said softly.

Jack was grateful beyond measure for the unspoken sympathy he saw in Phryne's eyes, and he felt almost weak with relief at the thought she understood. His lack of regret for Ted's loss had always seemed like such a shameful secret. A secret he kept locked away with all the other burdens taken residence inside him after the war. There were times he wondered if this part of him would be unforgivable in Phryne's eyes. What would she, who knew how it felt to lose a loved sibling, think of him for not sharing Rosie's pain?

"And when I got back, she and the rest of her family had turned their home into a mausoleum for their fallen hero. It was like walking into a play halfway through the second act. Rosie never got over Ted's absence." His voice sounded bitter, even to him, but he couldn't seem to stop the words that were leaping off his tongue, having finally broken free of the walls he had built around them.

"God knows I wasn't the same man when I returned, but even if I had been I doubt we could have made our way back to each other. I've always thought being able to share one another's burdens is fundamental to the success of a marriage." He was unable to keep the regret from his voice now, and Jack saw Phryne's hand start to move, almost imperceptibly, as though she wanted to reach out to him, but he wasn't ready for her comfort so he drew back slightly and took another sip of his drink.

"Sidney was Ted's closest friend."

"And George Sanderson's godson?"

Jack nodded, remembering with grim amusement, his pretence of not remembering who Fletcher was when he encountered him at George's bedside. Something about the man had always made his skin crawl, even before he had seen him with his hands on Rosie. "Yes. He always did carry a torch for Rosie. I think it baffled him no end that she never seemed to notice his devotion, and that she ultimately chose me, a poor policeman with nothing to offer."

"Ah, so it would indeed be a mistake to equate education with intelligence when it comes to Sidney Fletcher," Phryne said, her eyes twinkling as she grinned mischievously at him.

Jack rolled his eyes affectionately at her obvious attempt to lighten the mood. "Well we can at least credit him with persistence. It may have taken 16 years, but he got there in the end," he said sardonically, noting Phryne's unabashed scrutiny of his expression.

"Jack," she began, this time reaching out to lay her hand over his before he could react.

"It's fine, Phryne," Jack cut her off, gently pulling his hand out from under hers. He found himself suddenly feeling uncomfortably exposed, having just unburdened himself to her while she stood so close, all pretence of playful seduction gone.

Phryne frowned at his retreating hand. "You are allowed to feel upset about Rosie's engagement. In fact, I would find it rather strange if you weren't."

"But that is just it, Miss Fisher. I find myself largely indifferent."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Most men would be -"

Jack smiled, happy to be back on familiar ground with her. "I thought you were aware by now, Miss Fisher, that I am not necessarily like most men."

"Of course," she smiled up at him. "But I'm yet to meet _any_ man, or woman for that matter, who is immune to sexual jealousy."

How like her, to express her concern by teasing, while being so singularly unable to restrain her curiosity. "I will have to defer to your greater knowledge such matters, Miss Fisher," he teased back, still looking at her hand that was resting where it had lain upon his. "But I can assure you I do not resent Rosie for moving on with her life." His eyes softened and he met Phryne's gaze. "Mostly I just feel relieved."

Phryne wrinkled her brow in confusion. "Relieved, Inspector?"

"Relieved, Miss Fisher." Jack stated firmly. "For so long I have carried this feeling regret. And while I don't imagine that will ever leave, now it feels that things are as they should be. Fletcher might not a be man I would want to share a drink with, but he can give Rosie all the things I never could."

"There is more to life than wealth and status, Jack," Phryne stated, her chin jutting out slightly as though she expected him to challenge her statement.

This time Jack was the one to lay his hand back over Phryne's. He allowed himself a brief caress of her knuckles, before withdrawing. "I know. And I wasn't necessarily referring to his financial or social standing."

Jack found himself fighting an almost irresistible urge to take her in his arms. It was one he was becoming increasingly familiar with the more time he spent standing by her fireplace with her. "I meant that he could give her the attention she deserves, rather than always being distracted by solving murders."

"And what is wrong with spending your time solving murders?" Phryne asked humorously. "I think the good people of Melbourne are rather grateful you devote so much attention to it."

Jack nodded in acknowledgement of her compliment, although he knew his ex-wife did not share her sentiments. He had been rather surprised and more than just a bit gratified when Rosie had admitted to finally understanding his devotion to his job, earlier that day in his office. He felt no regret that her observation had come many years too late to make a difference, just the overwhelming sense of relief he was now trying to explain to Phryne.

"You may be right, Miss Fisher, but such devotion can be rather consuming at times. As Rosie has lived her whole life surrounded by members of the Victorian Constabulary, I imagine she is relieved to not have to play second fiddle to police work this time around. And she has more than earned that privilege. In many ways, she is so much braver than I could ever have been. She had the courage to bring an end to the standoff we were in."

Phryne looked like she desperately wanted to say something, but the look on his face stopped her, so she settled for moving across the room to fetch the decanter.

Besides," Jack nodded as Phryne moved to refill his glass, "I imagine it brings her a measure of comfort to think how happy her brother would be to see them together."

"No doubt," Phryne said, smiling over her glass.

"It just seems fitting that she should end up with Fletcher now. I used to wonder if she thought it would have been better if - " Jack stopped abruptly, and looked away, thankful he had managed to swallow the treacherous thought in time.

"Better if what, Jack?"

But he had no intention of answering her. He could not bring himself to regret having shared the things he had revealed to her that night, nor the lightness that was spreading through him as a result, but he refused to burden her with some of his darker thoughts.

He swallowed his drink in one smooth gulp. "Better if I take myself home and let you get some rest," he said, forcing a smile and retreating from the room before she could stop him. He gathered up his coat and hat, and turned briefly as he opened her door to leave. She was staring at him; mouth slightly ajar, so he took advantage of her momentary confusion to say "Goodnight, Miss Fisher." And with that he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much for all your kind words of encouragement.

* * *

Dissolving in a spotlight

keep your cool

with a pack of tarot cards

and jiggery-pokery behind a screen.

_Gentlemen may remove any garment consistent with decency._

_Ladies may remove any garment consistent with charm_

'Underneath the Arches', Dorothy Hewett

* * *

"That's strange, all I can see is another martini."

Phryne shook her head in mock annoyance, but was unable to bite back the smile that tugged at her lips. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so pleasantly tipsy. It was wonderful, she thought, to be sitting curled up on her lounge with her knees just touching Jack's. Indeed, it was agreeable sharing the same seat for once, rather than exchanging loaded looks from opposite ends of her fireplace. She wasn't inclined to spoil the mood by getting up to mix another drink.

Jack also seemed content to sit smiling at her, his eyes slightly hazy too. Phryne pressed her knees a bit more firmly against his, and was gratified when he didn't pull away. It hadn't escaped her notice that he seemed especially comfortable in her presence tonight; clearly he had decided to overlook her dalliance with Warwick Hamilton.

Phryne had found his unguarded display of annoyance when she had revealed she had slept with Hamilton curiously satisfying. She supposed she shouldn't enjoy upsetting him, but she had been disconcerted and irritated by his dismissive response when Mrs Bolkonsky had urged him to pursue his 'greatest passion'. Phryne didn't enjoy being disconcerted, and she certainly didn't want to examine why Jack's refusal of Mrs Bolkonsky's entreaty had ruffled her, so she plumped for distraction instead in the form of a warm and willing body in her bed. And it had been enjoyable, even tender, until they were interrupted. But she suspected it would ultimately prove more forgettable for her than it would for Jack.

Ever since the Imperial Club case she felt like they were walking on eggshells around each other. Funny, she thought, how sharing one's more intimate concerns, as Jack had done, could end up creating more distance. Or was it that neither of them was built for intimacy? Goodness knew she had spent most of the last decade avoiding it. But Jack had been married before. Surely that required a degree of familiarity? Although given the end result of said marriage, maybe he was as wary of intimacy as she was?

It was clear he felt that the man who came back from war had been a disappointment to Rosie. His ex-wife's choice of new partner seemed to bear this out, but the longer she spent in his company, the harder Phryne found it was to encompass the idea of Jack lacking in any way.

Now there was a thought she didn't particularly like dwelling on, but still it couldn't be denied. Jack Robinson was in danger of spoiling her for all other men and he had barely touched her. Physically. She really needed to address that. Whether it was Jack's unnerving effect on her or his refusal to make any physical advances, she wasn't sure. But something definitely needed addressing.

Although, for possibly the first time in memory, she really wasn't sure how to deal with a man. The dawning realisation of whatever it was that was building between her and the Inspector was thoroughly disconcerting, but irresistibly tantalising all the same.

"I take it your Aunt won't be in a hurry to consult a spiritual medium again?"

His warm voice, made slightly woolly by the cocktails they had consumed, jolted her from her reverie. Phryne turned a lazy smile on him. "I can see it affords you no small amount of satisfaction to see Mrs Bolkonsky discredited, Inspector."

"While I can't say I feel any regret that she is no longer free to prey on the vulnerable bereaved, I would have preferred to accomplish that without a murder involved."

"Memories make for powerful ghosts," Phryne said, with a pert grin.

Jack grinned back. "Indeed they do, Miss Fisher, but Mr Hamilton is hardly the only one left grappling with memories or ghosts from the War," he reminded her.

Phryne was instantly sobered by that thought. "Of course," she said, absent-mindedly staring at her now empty glass. "But in the end Warwick was also a victim of Mrs Bolkonsky's 'gift.'"

She watched as a shadow of annoyance passed over Jack's face. Ah! So he _was_ still upset by the thought of her liaison. That was almost novel - she hadn't seen him bothered by her sex life since Lin Chung. If only he would speak to her about it, rather than torment her with those expressive eyes of his that always seemed to say far more than his tongue wanted to. Phryne hardly knew what she would say, were he to question her about her affairs, but there were times when she almost longed for him to do so, if only for the sake of catching a glimpse behind his carefully constructed, seemingly unflappable façade.

"I hardly think he can be classified as a victim, given he was too was making a living from Mrs Bolkonsky's performances," Jack said tartly, holding his glass out in a wordless demand for a refill. His aggravation appeared to have overridden his innate good manners. Another highly irregular occurrence - it would seem her Inspector was still capable of surprising her.

"True," Phryne said taking his glass with good grace. She swiftly attended to refilling it, taking care to insinuate herself even closer when she returned to sit beside him. "But I think we both understand that reason is almost always a stranger to grief. There are some losses that are unbearable."

The teasing, playful mood of earlier now thoroughly dissipated, they sat in contemplative silence, until a thought occurred to Phryne. "Jack," she began tentatively "you've never told me anything about _your_ family."

Jack spluttered, almost choking on his drink. "That is probably because you never asked, Miss Fisher," he said solemnly, making an admirable effort to pull himself together.

"You are, of course right, Jack," Phryne said pressing even closer, barely resisting the urge to inhale his scent. He smelt, as always, of clean soap rather than cologne, something she found inexplicably comforting and alluring. "But that now seems like an unforgivable oversight on my part, given you know practically all there is to know about my family."

"Yes," Jack said uncomfortably.

"I can assure you, my lack of inquiry about your family does not stem from any want of curiosity on my part."

Jack smiled at that. "Of course. No one, least of all me, could ever accuse you of a lack of curiosity, Miss Fisher."

Phryne chose to ignore that. "So, Jack, dear, how many other Robinsons are there? Brothers, sisters?" Phryne was aware she was potentially treading on dangerous ground asking him about the family he had remained so resolutely silent about, but she couldn't deny her burgeoning need to know more about his past. Suddenly it seemed very important.

Jack was silent for a long, uncomfortable moment and Phryne was just about to attempt to change the subject when he finally started speaking. "Well, there is not much to tell. You know already that I grew up in Richmond. I have two sisters, one older and one younger. I also had a younger brother who died."

"The War?" Phryne asked, memories of a discussion about other fallen siblings making her regret broaching the subject with him.

"No, he died as an infant. Diphtheria."

"Oh." It was hardly a shocking admission. Growing up in Collingwood, Phryne was familiar with the perils of childhood illnesses. "So Jack Robinson grew up surrounded by adoring females?"

Jack laughed softly. "Hardly. My sisters are not really the adoring type. They were generally too busy delighting in making my life difficult, much like you, Miss Fisher."

Phryne's eyes lit up with mischief. "Really, Inspector? I believe I would like to meet these sisters of yours."

Jack looked horrified by the thought. "Well, um," he stuttered much to Phryne's amusement.

"What is it Jack? Are you afraid your sisters might be corrupted by a wicked immoral woman such as myself?"

Jack was instantly contrite. "Of course not. I have never thought of you as wicked or immoral, Miss Fisher."

"Not even when you found me half naked in a Turkish bathhouse?" Phryne asked, enjoying teasing him.

"Not even then, Miss Fisher," Jack stated firmly, looking more than a bit troubled by the turn their conversation had taken.

Phryne decided to take pity on him. "I know, Jack," she said, giving him a playful shove. "But you have piqued my curiosity about these sisters of yours who are adept at tormenting you."

"Unfortunately for me, the feeling is mutual," Jack said smiling fondly. "Both my sisters love to interrogate me about the exploits of the famous lady detective who has insinuated herself into my murder cases."

Phryne found herself unaccountably touched by this admission. "Are your sisters modern women too, Jack?"

Jack laughed. "Well, I don't know about that, Miss Fisher, but I suspect you would get along entirely too well with them. Especially my eldest sister, Emma, who continues to devote herself to besting me at every opportunity."

Phryne couldn't help but smile at the affection in his voice. "Tell me about your sisters, Jack." She was pleasantly surprised when he proceeded to do so, and she sat, rapt, as he regaled her with tales of his childhood. It was a rare treat to be given a glimpse into his closely guarded private world. It was also a treat to be able to sit back and let his voice wash over her.

Perhaps it was the last, possibly ill advised cocktail she had consumed, or perhaps it was just an overwhelming feeling of contentment that saw her eyes beginning to droop as he recounted his adventures to her. Her head really did feel impossibly heavy, and his shoulder was so close and inviting.

"Miss Fisher, you seem to have fallen asleep on me."

"Hmm," she murmured snuggling in.

"Miss Fisher, I think it's time you went to bed."

"An excellent idea, Inspector."

"You need to go upstairs to your bed."

"But it's so comfortable here."

"Miss Fisher?"

"We can go upstairs in a minute, Jack."

She was vaguely aware of being gently laid down and covered with a soft blanket, and then the fleeting caress of lips on her forehead.

When she was woke early the next morning with the sun streaming in through the still open curtains hitting her squarely in the face, she was momentarily confused as to why she had spent the night alone in her parlour, until the faint smell of pears soap reminded her that Jack had been there at some point.


	3. Chapter 3

_Once again, thank you for all your kind words of encouragement. I thought 'Dead Man's Chest' was particularly rich in flirting banter for our couple, so this chapter was particularly fun to write._

* * *

the sea is a collector, quick to return a rapacious look.  
There are others besides you who have worn that look -  
whose expression is no longer a protest

Marianne Moore, 'A Grave'

* * *

"To pirates, adventurers and boys on bicycles!"

They raised their glasses and tried not to laugh. Jack was having a hard time maintaining his usual air of gravity. Apparently, he mused, the time in Queenscliff had agreed with him - dead bodies not withstanding.

"You know Jack, we really should go on holiday together more often, especially if you promise to bring along that swimsuit of yours. I did enjoy seeing you in something other than a three piece suit."

Of course she had made special note of his bathing costume. Jack hadn't failed to notice her keen appraisal as he emerged, dripping wet from the frigid ocean. He doubted he would live that down any time soon. Strangely enough, he couldn't bring himself to care overly much. It had actually been almost enjoyable to be the object of such open admiration.

"In fact, Inspector," Phryne continued with a wicked grin, "had I known you were in possession of such an admirable … bathing costume, I would have suggested a trip to the seaside sooner."

Jack allowed himself a small smile at her suggestive remarks. He was no longer shocked or flustered by her flirting. Two could play at that game. "I fear we are too late to take advantage of the warm weather, Miss Fisher," he said playfully, "It's almost Autumn, and while a swim in the cold ocean may be bracing for some, I find it does nothing for me."

"But Jack," Phryne said sweetly, "don't you find it exhilarating, and just a little bit exciting?"

"I get enough excitement with you around, Miss Fisher."

"Well I'll take that as a compliment," said Phryne, delighted, "but what about the physical benefits of swimming?"

"I prefer other pursuits," Jack said with more than a hint of suggestiveness in his voice.

"Such as adventuring on your bicycle?"

"Yes, I still enjoy cycling when I get the chance."

"And do you wear the tight jerseys and shorts the men wear on the Tour?" Phryne asked, her eyes gleaming. Jack could practically see the visions flashing through her mind.

He rolled his eyes. "Not these days, Miss Fisher."

"Why ever not, Jack?" Phryne asked. Was that genuine disappointment he heard in her voice?

"I find I don't have the time to devote to cycling that would necessitate such outfits. I'm more of a hobbyist these days, I'm afraid."

"Pity," Phryne sighed, before grinning impishly. "I hope you still go on adventures, though."

"I get enough adventure in my professional life, Miss Fisher," Jack said, with mock seriousness. "Not that investigating murders can be counted as a particularly enjoyable adventure." _If I overlook the time I spend investigating with you_ Jack added, somewhat shamefully to himself.

"Of course not. But at least it did provide pirates of a sort for you this time."

Jack made a sound that could almost be considered a laugh. "True enough. But I will say, there is nothing like a good long bicycle ride to clear the head and focus the mind."

"I'll have to take you word for it," Phryne said, a shadow briefly darkening her features.

"Not adventurous enough for you?"

"I wouldn't know," Phryne murmured, looking almost embarrassed, "as I have never ridden a bicycle."

Jack had to take care not to gape in surprise at her. How was it possible that Phryne Fisher, who could seemingly do anything she set her mind to, including flying a plane and speaking in Russian, had never ridden a bicycle? "You've never ridden a bicycle?" he asked, stunned.

"Oh don't look so shocked, Jack. I've never claimed to be an expert at everything," she said sounding slightly miffed. "Besides, I hardly think it possible for one person to be able to do _all_ things, even me."

"Maybe not, but I'm yet to come across something you can't do."

"Well, now you have," Phryne said, almost snappishly.

"I apologise if I've offended you, Miss Fisher," Jack placated. "It's just that I'm used to seeing you scale buildings and outwit any number of criminals, while careening around in that motorcar of yours. I always imagined you to be adept at handling any vehicle, be it with wings or wheels."

"Well, technically," she said, mollified, "it's not so much a problem of ability as it is of my never having tried it."

"Never tried?" Jack asked, still perplexed. "Too sedate for you?"

"Not entirely. When I was a girl, there was nothing I wanted more than a bicycle of my own. That seemed like the ultimate freedom to me – to be able to go wherever my legs could pedal me, so much further and faster than was possible by walking. But grubby little girls from Collingwood didn't own bicycles back then."

Jack was instantly chastened. It was easy to forget, when sitting inside her opulent home how she had spent the majority of her childhood. "Surely someone as resourceful as you could have found a way to make their dream of riding a bicycle happen, Miss Fisher?" he teased.

Phryne made a great show of being outraged by his suggestion, but Jack didn't fail to notice the humorous gleam in her eyes. "I'll have you know, Inspector," she began imperiously, "that I never resorted to theft as a child. Well not of large items of property, anyway."

Jack did his best to look contrite. "My apologies again, Miss Fisher, for suggesting that you are, or have ever been, anything less than scrupulously law-abiding."

This earned him an exasperated smile. "No need to lay it on so thick, Jack. We both know I have no problem blurring the boundaries of lawfulness when it suits me." Jack couldn't help but wince at that, which Phryne noted with something akin to glee. "But I only ever break laws that I don't see the point of at the time."

Jack huffed at this, but chose not to challenge such an outrageous statement. Playful bickering was one thing, but he had no intention of entering into one of the full-scale battles he and Phryne sometimes engaged in. "So why did you not avail yourself of a bicycle once you were of means, Miss Fisher?" he asked instead.

"Well I often wanted to, after we first relocated back to England, if only to make it easier to escape to the village, but my mother would never let me. She thought it an unladylike pursuit."

"I would have thought such a judgment would only have served to make the idea even more enticing," Jack said, having a hard time imagining the Phryne he knew ever being overridden by the objections of others.

"Of course it did. But believe it or not, Jack," Phryne said growing serious, "even I had to obey my parents as a child, no matter how much I hated it."

Jack nodded, feeling an inexplicable sense of regret. While he should hardly find it surprising, or even inappropriate that Phryne had once been dependent upon, and subservient to her parents, somehow it felt wrong to think of her gloriously independent spirit being restricted by anyone.

"And by the time I had my own funds," Phryne continued, "I was much more interested in motorcars."

"Of course you were, Miss Fisher. And you have been terrorising fellow motorists and pedestrians ever since."

"I make no apology for that, Jack," Phryne laughed. "And as far as freedom goes, nothing can match owning one's own motorcar for that. I can go anywhere there is a road now."

"I can't argue with that," Jack said, aware that he would never get to experience such freedom for himself. If it wasn't for the fact his job required him to drive, he doubted he would get to do it with any regularity. He certainly wasn't going to be buying his own car any time soon on his policeman's salary, but he didn't begrudge Phryne hers. From the little she had told him about her childhood and of the time spent at the boarding school she still shuddered to think of, he supposed she had earned whatever freedom she could afford to give herself. Not that Phryne needed his, or anyone's permission to do anything these days.

"I have an idea Jack!" Phryne said, with an eager look that instantly made Jack wary. Nothing good ever came from that look. "Why don't you teach me how to ride a bicycle?"

"And why would I do that, Miss Fisher?"

"To help me eliminate a gap in my already impressive skillset?" Phryne suggested amiably.

"Well…" Jack said, frantically trying to think of a good reason to object. It was hardly an unreasonable request, and he didn't think it would be particularly difficult, given Phryne's agility and adventurous spirit, but he wasn't sure his sensibilities could survive the physical closeness such an endeavour would require. It was hard enough to keep from being overwhelmed when she perched on the edge of his desk, or sat just closer to him than propriety allowed, as she was doing right then. He wasn't sure how he would cope with being required to deliberately touch her anywhere below her shoulders.

"Oh come on Jack, it will be fun. I promise you I'm a fast learner," she grinned. "Would it make it more enticing if I offered to let you drive the Hispano in exchange for cycling lessons?"

Jack was unable to hide the interest that promise sparked. "You would let me drive your car?"

"Thought that might sway you," Phryne said triumphantly.

Jack squirmed. He didn't really like being manipulated into doing something he didn't want to do (or more accurately in this case, something he didn't think was a good idea), but the thought of being able to drive the Hispano was altogether too tempting. "Well perhaps I could give you some tips at some point," he said, trying his best to sound non-committal.

"I look forward to it, Jack," Phryne said, practically purring with satisfaction at the thought.

Jack swallowed and tried to smile back at her. Surely when the time came he could find a plausible excuse to beg off? Or failing that, he could always distract her with a murder investigation…


	4. Chapter 4

Because you saw the Roman's wink,  
Because your senses dance to metre,  
Because no matter what I drink,  
You'll hold at least another litre

'To a Friend', Kenneth Slessor

* * *

"So, Miss Fisher, did your ride on the Great Scenic Railway live up to your expectations?" Jack asked as they strolled arm in arm through Luna Park.

Phryne looked up at him with a mischievous smile. "You know, I'm not entirely sure, given it was over so quickly," she said sweetly. "Perhaps we should go back and try it again so I can form a more considered opinion?" She had to bite back a laugh when she saw his grimace. And was that a shudder she detected from her normally stoic Inspector?

"I doubt a repeat performance is necessary for a woman of your keen insight to form an opinion, Miss Fisher," he said a touch abruptly.

Phryne couldn't resist teasing him a little more. "Of course, Jack. Still, there are plenty of other attractions we could amuse ourselves with," she said suggestively. This time his look of horror did prompt her to laugh out loud. "Oh come now, Jack. Luna Park is treasure trove of delights! Why limit ourselves to just one ride?"

"I am a man of my word, Miss Fisher," Jack said gravely. "The terms of our wager were a ride on the Great Scenic Railway, which has now been paid in full. I don't recall any mention of other attractions in our agreement."

"Well you have me there," Phryne acknowledged. "But are you sure I can't tempt you with a ride on the Big Dipper? I hear it's even more thrilling than the Scenic Railway!"

"Quite sure, Miss Fisher," Jack said sternly, but Phryne was certain she detected the ghost of a smile on his lips. It was quite delicious to be teasing him, standing in Luna Park discussing roller coasters. It was even more delicious when he pretended to be unmoved by her teasing.

"Don't tell me you're scared," Phryne said with a cheeky smile, deliberately echoing her earlier challenge.

"Of course not," Jack said, finally allowing the smile that had been tugging at his lips to break across his face. "I just happen to find Luna Park less than amusing."

"Spoilsport," Phryne said, pouting. "I guess I will have to get Dot to accompany me on that one after all. Do you think you can live with that on your conscience, Jack?"

"No doubt she will find the experience less terrifying than being driven by you in your motorcar," Jack said, prompting a disgusted eye roll from her. "Perhaps I can escort you home?"

"Oh, it's much too early for that," Phryne said, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice. She had no doubt that Mr Butler would have tactfully ushered the tedious Giorgos the Greek from the house by now, but she was reluctant to bring an end to their time together. "How about you take me for a walk on the beach instead?"

"I don't think either of us is dressed appropriately for that, Miss Fisher," Jack said, the sternness creeping back into his voice as he pointedly eyed her delicate shoes.

"But Jack, you said it yourself – there's nothing like a day at the seaside, and our day is still young," Phryne said, running her hand almost seductively up his arm.

Jack sighed in mock exasperation. "I may as well give in, as I doubt you will cease haranguing me until I do." But his glare did not fool her: it was evident he was enjoying being harangued into spending more time with her.

They ambled in companionable silence down to the foreshore at which point Phryne detached herself from Jack's arm, reached down to discard her shoes and stockings and skipped gleefully across the sand, squealing in delight when the cold waves lapped at her bare toes. She amused herself for several minutes in the ankle deep surf, her skirt delicately hitched to her knees, before glancing up to see Jack watching her from a safe distance with an expression of fond forbearance on his face.

Taking in the sight of him standing, cloaked in his customary uniform of overcoat and three piece suit, his hands thrust into his pockets, Phryne thought longingly of the last time she had seen him on a beach, and the delectable bathing costume he had been wearing. Much to her growing frustration, the vision of Jack emerging dripping wet from the ocean, his admirably brief costume clinging to him in almost all the right places had been making a regular appearance in her dreams. Even more frustratingly, she had caught herself daydreaming about how his splendidly muscular arms would feel wrapped around her without the encumbrance of all the layers he usually wore.

Phryne gave herself a mental shake and kicked the frigid water at her feet. No use dwelling on such thoughts when the man himself was only a few yards away. She turned her most dazzling smile on him and called, "Aren't you going to join me Jack?"

"Not on your life, Miss Fisher," he called back. "I've already told you I'm not fond of bathing in freezing cold water."

"Oh where's your sense of adventure Jack!" Phryne said tossing her head, pretending to splash in his direction.

Despite being well out of the way of her splashing, Jack took an involuntary step backwards. "I must have left it at home with my bicycle," he said cheekily.

"Very well, suit yourself, but you are missing out! The water feels divine."

"Looks cold from here, Miss Fisher."

After several minutes of splashing and skipping, Phryne felt herself begin to shiver and reluctantly trudged back up the beach to where Jack stood.

"Has the chill finally overcome your sense of adventure, Miss Fisher?" Jack asked with raised eyebrow.

"Of course not," said Phryne blithely, dropping elegantly to sit in the sand beside him. "You just looked rather forlorn and lonely standing here all by yourself, so I thought I would come and keep you company."

"How considerate of you, Miss Fisher."

"Not at all, Inspector."

"I was too busy admiring the view to feel lonely," he said cryptically, causing Phryne to smile joyfully back at him.

"Are you flirting with me, Jack?" she asked.

"That depends, Miss Fisher,"

"Depends?"

"On what view you think I'm referring to."

Phryne laughed and extended a hand to him, which he accepted after some hesitation.

"I'm going to get sand all over my clothing," he grumbled as he gingerly lowered himself to sit beside her.

"Oh hush, Jack," Phryne chided scooting closer to him, taking care to stop just sort of touching him. They sat in silence, watching the late afternoon sun slant across the beach. Before long, the lowering sun and cooling breeze began to seep into Phryne's bones and she was unable to suppress her shivers.

"Are you still going to tell me you're not cold, Miss Fisher," Jack asked amusedly as he started to take his overcoat off.

Phryne reached out a hand to stop him. "I doubt you would believe me if I did, Jack," she said grinning. "But there is no need to sacrifice your coat entirely. I'm sure it can accommodate both of us," she said draping the one abandoned sleeve over her shoulder, and snuggling shamelessly into Jack's side. She felt him stiffen momentarily, before slowly relaxing into her touch.

"Much better," Phryne purred, giving the side of his thigh a playful squeeze.

"Behave yourself, Miss Fisher," Jack growled, but he made no move to pull away and they again fell into silent contemplation of the slowly setting sun.

It was rather a novel experience, Phryne reflected, to be sitting in silence, cuddled up to a man whom she was quite sure had no intention of taking their embrace any further. She firmly pushed away the frustration and disappointment that thought threatened to inspire, and sighed in contentment as she rested her head on his shoulder.

All too soon the last rays of the sun began to fade and Jack gently pulled away from her. "It's getting dark, Miss Fisher," he said quietly "time I took you home."

Phryne nodded reluctantly, and turned to gather her discarded shoes and stockings. She looked up as she was brushing the sand from her legs to see him standing over her. "Jack?" she asked, noting the slight frown he wore that was just discernible in the disappearing light.

"Your feet must be freezing," he said.

Phryne shrugged. "Truthfully, I've only just noticed," she whispered. It was on the tip of her tongue to say she had been more agreeably occupied, but she didn't feel inclined to tease him when he was looking at her with such earnestness, half shrouded in darkness.

Jack dropped to his knees and she held her breath as he took her feet in his warm hands. She closed her eyes at the unexpected rush of pleasure as he began to gently rub warmth back into her cold feet. Damn him! How was it possible to be so moved by such a seemingly innocent caress?

"Is that better, Miss Fisher?" Jack's voice cut through the haze of sensation that was in danger of overcoming all her senses.

Desperate to hide how flustered she was, Phryne nodded. "I think so Jack," she said determinedly keeping her voice even, swallowing the cry of disappointment that threatened to escape her when he removed his hands.

"It's almost dark," he reminded her again. He turned away slightly as she hurriedly donned her stockings and shoes while she still had enough light to see what she was doing.

"There!" she said brightly, as she bounced to her feet. "All done. Shall we, Jack?"

"Miss Fisher," he said gallantly offering her his arm.

Phryne kept up a steady stream of light chatter as they made their way back to her house, determined to ignore the sudden sombreness and reticence that seemed to have overtaken Jack. When they arrived at her front door, she released his arm but grabbed his hand. "Can I tempt you with the offer of a drink?" She smiled invitingly at him. "I'm sure Mr Butler can be prevailed upon to accommodate one extra for dinner."

She watched as several emotions flittered briefly across his face, before he carefully schooled his features back into their inscrutable mask.

"I'm sorry I can't, Miss Fisher," Jack said reluctantly, "I have some paperwork waiting for me back at the station."

"You know what they say about all work and no play…" Phryne entreated, gently squeezing his hand.

That at least got her a soft laugh, and a brief squeeze in return. "I'm afraid I am hopelessly dull, Miss Fisher. And have been for some time now," he said.

The lurking sorrow in his expression tugged at Phryne's heart. "Nonsense," she whispered. "But I won't keep you from your duty." They stood, bathed in the warm yellow light spilling through the stained glass of her front door, eyes locked, still holding hands. Slowly, not wanting to break the spell, Phryne moved closer and raised herself up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

Jack jumped back slightly, dropping her hand in surprise. For another long moment, they simply stared at each other, as he absent-mindedly rubbed his cheek where she had kissed him.

"Well good night then, Jack," Phryne said finally.

"Goodnight, Miss Fisher," Jack answered, still looking thoroughly disconcerted.

"Until next time?" Phryne prompted, enjoying having rendered him almost speechless. Leave it to Jack to be so startled by an innocent kiss to the cheek.

"Yes," Jack said nodding, "until next time." He appeared to give himself a mental shake, and with a polite tip of his hat, turned and made his way back down her path to the gate.

Phryne watched him make his way along her street until he disappeared into the darkness. Sighing, she stepped through her front door and headed upstairs to change. She suspected she was in for another night of frustrating dreams.


	5. Chapter 5

My apologies for taking so long to get this next instalment up. I have greatly appreciated your words of encouragement, and hope this proves worthy of the wait. Jack does not make an appearance here, because I wanted to stay true to each ending, but I promise he will return in my next chapter.

* * *

…_in spite of our embarrassment.  
__Costume and custom are complex…_

Elizabeth Bishop, 'Exchanging Hats'

* * *

Phryne slowly made her way upstairs, the yards of silk and tulle trailing gracefully behind her. She was careful not to snag her heel in the hem - that would indeed make it a lethal dress. She sighed as she reached her bedroom. Damn Jack Robinson for showing up so late, just to exchange a few delightfully suggestive sentences with her and then leave when things got interesting. It was becoming a habit of his.

Phryne threw herself facedown on her bed, uncaring of her gown, squeezing her eyes shut in frustration. Things were starting to become untenable with her Inspector. She wondered when exactly the atmosphere between them had shifted from harmless flirting to perpetual, unnameable frustration on her part?

Somewhere between Murdoch Foyle and her fan dance, he had burrowed into her thoughts in a way that simultaneously disconcerted and fascinated her. Before Jack, she had very determinedly kept all her interactions with the opposite sex at arms length, emotionally speaking. As much as she enjoyed the thrill of a flirtation that led to a seduction, she took care to maintain control at all times. Which generally wasn't too difficult as most of the men she invited into her bedroom were far more physically appealing than intellectually stimulating.

Perhaps that was the problem with Jack – he'd sparked her interest intellectually before she had begun to notice his physical appeal. Now he had established himself in her thoughts as attractive, intelligent, mysterious and unattainable - a thoroughly dangerous combination. More than once recently, Phryne had caught herself mentally cataloguing the number of times he had touched her. And even more worryingly: the ways in which she had been able to coax a smile from him.

She gave a muffled growl of irritation into her pillow. Phryne Fisher did not moon over men. Especially ones who were so determined to resist her charms. Pushing herself into a sitting position, she slumped her shoulders dejectedly, surrounded by layers of clinging silk and tulle and decided to stop thinking of Jack for the night. Surely she could find another man to direct her considerable charms towards, who would be happy to reciprocate, and then oblige her by leaving the next morning? If only she could summon the energy to remove the gown that was now starting to seem thoroughly ridiculous crumpled around her in the middle of her bed, perhaps she could reset her restless thoughts with a good night's sleep.

As if reading her mind, Dot gently rapped on her still open door, and cautiously peered in to ask, "Do you need some help Miss?"

Phryne smiled fondly at the kindly face of her companion. "It would appear so, Dot, if I'm ever to get out of this gown. And I find myself rather in need of an early night tonight."

Dot's expression betrayed the slightest hint of surprise at the thought of her mistress deciding to retire early, and she held out her hands to assist Phryne to stand so she could begin the delicate task of helping her out of the gown. "It's so beautiful," she whispered reverently as she began to unhook the fastenings.

"And spectacularly uncomfortable and impractical I might add," Phryne smiled wryly, as she inhaled her first comfortably deep breath of the evening. She turned and regarded Dot closely. "You looked very lovely in your new gown too, Dot."

Dot seemed determined to focus all her attention on attending to the fastenings, but Phryne did not claim to be a detective for nothing. When at last the dress had sagged open enough to slip it off her shoulders, Phryne pulled away and stepped out of it, leaving it in an undignified heap on the floor as she reached for her robe. She turned to face Dot, who was still staring with sadness at the discarded dress.

"I thought you enjoyed your modelling experience, Dot?" she asked gently.

Dot looked up, mortified. "Oh no Miss, of course I did!"

"Then why do you look as if someone has just told you that your birthday treat has been cancelled?"

"It's just," Dot said, biting her lip and looking down at the dress again, "I went to all that effort, and Hugh still didn't say anything to compliment me. He noticed how that awful woman who murdered Mrs Wilde and poor Violet was dressed, but he still doesn't pay attention to anything I wear."

"Oh Dot," Phryne said softly, laying a soothing hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "I'm sure that's not true." She bit back a smile at the mutinous look that crossed Dot's face.

"What else am I to think Miss? He couldn't even remember what colour my blouse was after he caught sight of Miss Lamaire."

Phryne frowned. This was the most distress she had seen her generally unflappable maid display since the time she had been considered a suspect in John Andrew's murder. Tamping down a brief flash of sympathy for the hapless Constable Collins, who doubtless had no idea how to flatter a woman, she pondered how best to comfort Dot without making thing worse for Hugh. "Dot, you remember I told you that a woman should dress first and foremost for her own pleasure?"

Dot looked up and nodded vigorously. "Yes, Miss! And I told Hugh you were absolutely right!"

Phryne bit back a smile as she imagined poor Hugh being confronted with Dot's righteous indignation. No wonder he didn't dare comment on her appearance after that! "Well, what I meant by that was while the intricacies of ladies fashions are not easily understood by most men, the pleasure they bring to the wearer can be unmistakable." Dot blushed at this. "And while Hugh may have seemed unmoved by your appearance," Phryne continued, "I can assure you, it is unlikely he failed to notice how radiant you looked in your dress. Rather, I imagine, the poor man simply lacks the words to express his admiration."

Dot appeared somewhat mollified by this thought. "Yes, well he does tend to get rather tongue-tied at times," she grinned.

"And as such, perhaps it is better to see this not as a failing on his part specifically, but of men in general?" Phryne prompted.

"I guess so, Miss," Dot allowed, somewhat reluctantly.

"Which brings me back to my original point, that a woman should dress for her own pleasure and regard any male admiration she might garner as purely incidental."

Phryne moved to place both hands on Dot's shoulders. "While I have no doubt that your Constable Collins is utterly bewitched by you Dot," she said, "I think it a mark of his of his high regard for you that he doesn't attempt to turn your head with empty flattery."

"Empty flattery, Miss?"

"Some men find it easy to utter any amount of pretty words to impress a woman, without ever meaning them." Phryne paused, wondering how to finish her thought without shocking Dot. "But a man who expresses his feelings with the sort of sincerity I have seen in Constable Collins is a man to be treasured, even if he sometimes has trouble finding the right words."

Dot remained silent for a moment, pondering Phryne's words, until a satisfied smile slowly spread across her face. "Well Hugh is definitely incapable of empty flattery, that's for sure."

Phryne chuckled at this. "Empty flattery is just that, Dot. It rarely satisfies beyond the first thrill. But that is not to say you shouldn't continue to wear pretty dresses if they make you feel good."

Dot nodded, still smiling. "Thank you, Miss, but I think I'll stick to my regular clothing. I can't see myself being comfortable as a fashion model, and I wouldn't want to confuse poor Hugh on a regular basis," she said cheekily.

"Darling Dot, I hope you never change," Phryne said leaning forward to place an exuberant kiss on her forehead.

"I'm quite sure I won't, Miss," Dot answered, as Phryne pulled back. "Do you need any more help?"

"Not tonight, Dot."

"Well then I'll be off to bed then. Goodnight, Miss," Dot said as she withdrew from the room.

"Goodnight, Dot," Phryne said absentmindedly as she sat back down on her bed pondering the advice she had just given to her maid. Suddenly, the idea of finding a willing man to temporarily turn her head with empty flattery had lost all appeal. Again.

Phryne groaned and threw herself back against her mound of pillows. Perhaps if she stuck to her plan of an early night, she would be fully restored come morning, and all thoughts of the value of sincere men would have fled. A girl could only dream.


	6. Chapter 6

This has proven to be the most difficult chapter to write so far. I'm fear that I may be taking things in a direction some of you will disagree with, but I really felt that _something_ happened between our two detectives between the ending of 'Marked for Murder' and the beginning of 'Blood at the Wheel' (other than Jack's understandable distress at thinking he was about to identify Phryne's body) that accounted for how thoroughly at odds they ended up being with each other, so this is my take on it.

* * *

There are no fortunes to be told, although,  
Because I love you more than I can say,  
If I could tell you I would let you know

'If I Could Tell You' W.H Auden

* * *

"Even a Collingwood girl would have to stay for a match like that, to humour an Abbotsford man."

Jack felt his hands tighten somewhat convulsively on his scarf as she draped it around Phryne's neck. He was aware that this was an intimate gesture; especially given they were surrounded by a crowd of people that included his ex-wife and her father, but he found himself almost mesmerised by the look in Phryne's eyes.

In the time he had known her, Jack had seen many expressions lighting up Miss Fisher's expressive eyes. Seductive playfulness was by far the most common, as was a certain cheekiness that he was quite sure he shouldn't find so charming. He had seen anger and defiance flash across her delicate features more than once when she was faced with an injustice she was determined to correct. He had also, regrettably, seen those same features consumed by sadness. But he had never seen her look so unguarded and enraptured as she did in this instance, and there was a softness in her expression that had him utterly captivated.

Jack knew he was treading on dangerous ground, exchanging such a lingering, longing look with Miss Fisher while his ex-wife was potentially looking on, but he had no intention of looking away. He felt like the last six months had been leading them to this moment, and found, almost to his surprise, that he really didn't care if Rosie and her father were witness to it. Let them look, he thought mutinously.

Phryne had never expressed disappointment in him or how he chose to live and work. Rather, she had chosen to declare her allegiance most charmingly, and decisively, at a time when he was feeling unaccountably at sea, caught between Sanderson's ire and Rosie's disconcerting habit of reappearing with her fiancé in tow. For the first time in longer than he cared to remember, Jack felt like someone was on his side. Someone, whose approval was not conditional upon him meeting certain milestones and standards. He was more thankful for her support than he could ever express with words.

"Are you trying to co-opt me into the Abbotsford fold, Inspector?" Phryne's voice was amused, but her eyes were still soft with some unnamed emotion.

"I wouldn't dream of it Miss Fisher," Jack grinned. "I'm just making sure you keep warm. What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you catch a chill?"

"I already know you are the very best of men, Jack," Phryne said warmly, reaching for his hand.

Jack let her take it and they settled back into their seats and turned their attention to the game being played in front of them, as if trying to ignore the fact they were behaving for all the world to see like a pair of sweethearts.

"I'd forgotten how interesting football can be," Phryne said, eyeing the players scrambling around the oval with open admiration.

Jack shook his head, and reflexively withdrew his hand. He wondered if he would ever be completely comfortable with Phryne's unabashed appreciation for the male form in whatever situation she encountered it.

As if sensing his discomfort, Phryne laid a soothing hand on his arm and turned to look at him, her brow creased in confusion at the sudden change in mood she sensed. "I'm sorry Jack," she said, her voice uncertain but sincere, as if she wasn't really sure what she was apologising for.

Jack was instantly contrite. As much as he disliked thinking of what her admiration of other men often led to, he found the idea of Phryne feeling the need to apologise to him for it equally disconcerting. Phryne Fisher did not generally apologise for doing what came naturally to her, and it pained Jack to think he could prompt such a response from her. Something had shifted between them. Jack was sure of it, but it wasn't something he could articulate.

Evidently Phryne had noticed it too, because for once she seemed at a loss for words. They looked at each other in dazed silence for a few moments, before Phryne turned her attention back to the game leaving Jack to ponder the goal posts on the oval below that were reassuringly fixed in place, unlike the metaphorical ones between them that seemed to be in a constant state of flux lately.

Caught up in their separate contemplation they both remained silent as the game unfolded before them. Eventually, Jack's attention shifted to the fortunes of Abbotsford, who seemed to be suffering from some malaise of their own and were being decisively outplayed by West Melbourne.

Jack found himself venting his frustrations as the score ran away from them, much to Phryne's enjoyment. "Amazing what football can do to a man," she teased. "I don't think I've seen you this passionate about anything before, Jack." She turned an assessing gaze on him. "Perhaps I should take more of an interest in Abbotsford, after all."

"Given their present performance, I'd say they could use all the support they can get Miss Fisher," Jack said disgustedly. He was aware she was finding his reaction to the game humorously entertaining, but old allegiances ran deep, and he wasn't ashamed to admit he had been hoping for an Abbotsford victory if only for the pleasure of seeing George deflated.

"Never mind, Jack," Phryne soothed, pressing his arm "there's always the second half."

But things only got worse for Abbotsford, and by the time the final siren sounded they had been comprehensively outplayed.

Jack was so wrapped up in the dying minutes of the game he almost failed to notice Phryne leaning across his shoulder to whisper in his ear, "I think you should take me home Jack, and perhaps I can cheer you up with a stiff drink and one of Mr Butler's excellent dinners."

Jack jumped back slightly in surprise. He searched Phryne's face and found that for all the potential seductiveness of her words, her expression was as open and guileless as it had been earlier. Against his better judgment, he found himself nodding in agreement. The naked delight that danced across her face at his acceptance of her invitation cheered Jack, and made him temporarily forget his disappointment with the game.

He was brutally reminded of said disappointment as they made their way down the grandstand, only to be confronted by George Sanderson's triumphant smirk.

"Well, Jack, shall we say the best team won?" Sanderson asked, extending his hand, smugness radiating from him.

Jack felt his defences start to rise. What was it about this man that always managed to reduce him to feeling childlike and more than a little bit foolish? Before he could formulate an answer, he felt Phryne's small, warm hand surreptitiously start to rub comforting circles against his back. Taking a moment to enjoy her unexpected touch, Jack found he no longer cared about the game.

He smiled coldly and affected a careless shrug. "I'll take your word for it, George," he said tipping his hat as he gently gripped Phryne's arm and tugged her down the remaining stairs.

"I'd say Sidney Fletcher is in for a painful evening," Phryne observed wryly as they made their way back to where the Hispano was parked.

"I'm sure he can handle himself, Miss Fisher. He is, after all, George's Godson," Jack said lightly, as he opened the driver's door for her with a flourish.

Phryne looked up at him with a mischievous grin. "You seem to be taking it rather well, Jack. I thought football was life and death."

"I think we've seen enough death for one week. I'd rather concentrate on life, starting with that meal and drink you promised me."

A brilliant smile overtook Phryne's face and Jack found himself hard pressed not to grin back at her like a lovesick fool. She really was radiant when she smiled like that.

"Shall we then?" she asked, sounding slightly breathless. Jack nodded and tried not to admire her too openly as she folded herself gracefully behind the wheel of the Hispano.

X

Dinner was, of course, excellent, and Phryne didn't trouble herself to resist the urge to tease him by asking if this time he thought they could allow themselves two candles this time?

"I don't see why not, Miss Fisher," he said allowing himself a cheeky grin, before continuing, "I find myself feeling slightly reckless tonight."

Phryne's eyes widened slightly in surprise at that, but as ever, she quickly recovered her poise and gifted him with a cheeky grin of her own. "I'll drink to that!" she said, lifting her wine glass in mock salute.

Swept up in the playful mood, Jack clinked his glass with hers, holding her gaze for a few moments before turning his attention to his food.

Dinner finished, Jack allowed himself to be pressed into sharing more drinks in the parlour. He knew he was entering into dangerous, possibly unknown territory, but he couldn't seem to tear himself away. Phryne's cheerful house and warm smiles held so much more allure than the cold, empty rooms waiting for him at home.

"So, Jack, tell me," Phryne practically purred as she handed him his drink and draped herself over the seat next to his, "how it is that I have known you for well over a year, and I am still only starting to discover your greatest passions."

Jack had to take care not to swallow his drink convulsively in one gulp. So she _had_ continued to eavesdrop on Mrs Bolkonsky's ridiculous attempts to distract him with her psychic skills. He wondered idly as he took a careful sip of whisky, how long she had been waiting to taunt him with that particular bit of knowledge. Phryne continued to watch him carefully, with the slightest hint of uncertainty.

He smiled. "I wouldn't call football a passion of mine, Miss Fisher."

Phryne sobered. "Especially not after this week?"

Jack shook his head emphatically. He had been as horrified as Phryne listening to Gibbs's story. "I've never really been one for team sports, anyway."

"You don't like having to play by the rules, Inspector?"

"You know me better than that, Miss Fisher. I merely dislike the kind of aggressive atmosphere that generally accompanies male dominated competitive sports. I'm not much for locker room humour, either."

Phryne nodded sympathetically. "I'm glad to hear it Jack." They fell silent for a moment, each seemingly contemplating their own dark thoughts, before Phryne spoke again. "Poor Moira Gibbs. She's hardly the first girl to be taken in by a man, only to find herself abandoned and forced into desperate measures."

"I still wish I could change the law for you, Miss Fisher," Jack said sadly. He was rewarded with an earnest smile.

"I know you do, Jack," Phryne reassured him, reaching out to press his hand affectionately. "I may not have believed you the first time you told me that, but I don't doubt your sincerity now."

Jack smiled gratefully. "I'm pleased we seem to understand each other better now, Miss Fisher. However," he said, returning Phryne's warm pressure on his hand, "I hope we both agree that murder is not the way to get around the law, no matter how objectionable we might find it."

Phryne pretended to ponder his words. "Very well, Jack. I will grant you _that_." She sighed with mock irritation, before frowning with genuine frustration. "But I do wish young girls were able to relieve themselves of their troubles without having to resort to disreputable surgeons or knitting needles."

"I agree, Miss Fisher," Jack said, trying to ignore the fact that Phryne's fingers were now deliberately stroking the back of his hand, sending shivers down his spine and completely transforming the atmosphere between them. When she fixed her luminous eyes on his he swallowed as he fought to resist the urge to kiss her. Her lips were so tantalisingly close and the look in her eyes was so inviting.

"You know Jack," she whispered, her fingers still dancing across his, trailing sparks of sensation in their wake, "I thought you were terribly rigid and humourless when we met."

Jack was quite sure he should find her words offensive, but was rapidly loosing all capacity for rational thought.

"And I'm sure you thought I was the most ridiculous, annoying woman you had ever encountered," Phryne continued, her voice still a caressing whisper. "But having the chance to get to know you these past months, to see the gentle, kind man behind that stern façade …" she trailed off, looking impossibly alluring as her fingers threatened to drive him to distraction. "Tell me Jack, how is it that this forbidding, disapproving man turned out to be so thoroughly bewitching?"

"Isn't that what I should be asking you?" Jack murmured dazedly.

Phryne laughed. "I'm quite sure I'm not nearly as bewitching as you, Inspector," she said leaning closer still. "After all, you have managed to resist me all these months."

"I'm not sure how." Jack said, his eyes widening as Phryne's hand came up to cup his cheek, her intent now unmistakable. But rather than sinking into her embrace, and letting his lips touch hers, Jack found himself fighting off a rising panic.

He couldn't kiss her! He couldn't give in to his urges. He had no doubt where that would lead, and while other, lower parts of his body were screaming at his traitorous brain for hesitating, Jack knew that spending the night in Phryne's bed would spell the end of their friendship.

"Phryne, no," he said, trying to keep the panic from his voice as he gently pulled away from her embrace.

For a brief second, Phryne's face crumpled in shock, before she quickly schooled her features into a look of feigned nonchalance. "Why not, Jack," she asked, reaching out to cup his cheek again. "We are both adults. Both unattached."

"I said no!" Jack said more forcefully than he had intended to. His stomach clenched in regret when Phryne jumped back as if he had slapped her. They sat in stunned silence for several torturous moments.

"Phryne, I'm sorry…" Jack began tentatively.

"It's perfectly fine, Jack," Phryne said, determinedly avoiding his gaze.

"I didn't mean … I just can't …" he trailed off, unable to find the words to explain his fears to her.

"It's fine, Jack." Phryne said stiffly. "I understand that you don't …"

Jack felt sick when he finally forced himself to look at her, only to note the shimmer of tears in her lovely eyes. "That's not it…" he said, desperately, still unable to properly articulate why he had rejected her.

"Of course it is, Jack," she said sadly. "I misread the situation, and I'm sorry." They lapsed into uncomfortable silence yet again, before Phryne forced her lips into a smile and said determined cheerfulness, "No harm done!"

Jack very much doubted that. "Phryne, I -" he began again.

"Really, Jack, there's no need to tie ourselves up in knots over this."

The look on her face told him not to argue. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, Jack reached for his long forgotten glass and drained it. "Well then, I suppose I had better be off then."

"Of course, Inspector."

Jack really didn't like the forced gaiety of her voice, but it was obvious she no longer desired his company and he couldn't say he disagreed with that sentiment, so he allowed her to graciously escort him to her front door where he collected his hat and coat.

"Good night then, Jack," she said, her voice unreadable as she held open the door for him.

He made one last attempt to catch her gaze, wanting to reassure himself he hadn't caused her pain, but she kept her eyes stubbornly fixed on the ground. Feeling the urge to cry, Jack shrugged his coat on. "Goodnight, Miss Fisher," he said softly and stepped across her threshold, wondering if he would ever find a way to apologise to her properly.


	7. Chapter 7

I'm afraid things aren't going to get much better for a while...

* * *

Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,  
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?

'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S Eliot

* * *

For a long, terrible moment Phryne stared at the space where Jack had stood when he dismissed her from his life. Her eyes were swimming with tears that stubbornly refused to fall, and anger jostled with shock as she struggled to wrap her thoughts around what had just happened.

How dare he walk away? And after he had reduced her almost to the point of begging. Phryne Fisher begging a man to stay? Never! But no matter how long she remained staring, seemingly uncomprehendingly, at that awful space that no longer contained Jack, she couldn't seem to gather her recollection of events into any acceptable arrangement.

Perhaps it was inevitable that things would come to this. Jack had been an almost daily fixture in her life for nearly two years now – far longer than any other man who had sparked any kind of romantic interest in her. She had told herself many times that their relationship was 'strictly business', that her interest lay in the cases they solved together and not in the terrifyingly wonderful feelings he sometimes inspired in the pit of her treacherous stomach when he deigned to smile at her, tease her or look at her with those eyes that made promises he never intended to keep.

Phryne angrily swiped at her moist eyes. How had she let one man have such a hold over her? She wasn't used to having her advances refused, or having someone else do the leaving. But Jack was unlike anyone else. If she hadn't been so preoccupied by grief and shock, Phryne would possibly have acknowledged that he had been almost magnificent when he had finally faced her with his feelings.

Well, faced her only to turn and run. Just as he had the other week when she got too close. Was Jack Robinson, despite all appearances, a coward? If he was, then what did that make her? She still didn't quite know what to make of her aborted attempt to kiss him. Once she had pushed past the crippling feeling of embarrassment after he practically fled in terror from her house, she had wondered if perhaps he had done them both a favour.

She had always known that going to bed with Jack could never be a one time thing for either of them. This had, for the most part, kept her from pushing things too far despite the attraction that flowed between them. Why she had chosen to attempt to cross that line after the football match, she couldn't say. Or perhaps she could if she was inclined to give it the kind of close examination she usually avoided when dealing with her feelings.

Regardless, it was no longer up for debate now that Jack had made himself utterly and finally clear. Again, had she been inclined to self-reflection during the terrible few days since she had discovered Gertie's body tangled in the wreckage of her car she would perhaps have seen it coming. The spell cast by their unacknowledged longing could only remain in tact while it stayed unacknowledged. Now that it had been brutally broken, neither of them knew what to do about it.

His seemingly unfeeling response to her when he encountered her at the wreckage had left her feeling like he had viciously pulled a rug out from under her. She had seen him exasperated before, but never quite like this, and she had been struggling to supress the onslaught of shock and emotion that had threatened to overcome her when she first saw her friend slumped lifeless at the wheel of her car. So they had argued, because that was what they always did, and because they didn't know how else to deal with all that was unsaid between them. But there had been none of the usual teasing or good humour that generally underpinned their bickering, and for the first time in a long time he had point blank refused to listen to her. Poor Hugh – no wonder he had looked as though he wished the road would open up and swallow him.

It honestly had not occurred to her that Jack would think it was her lying in the wreckage. Nor would she have suspected him of having harboured near constant fears for her. She was so used to disregarding any threat to safety, to being solely responsible for herself that it simply never occurred to her that someone might voluntarily take on the task of worrying about her.

By the time he confessed it to her, she was firmly committed to her attitude of seemingly cavalier recklessness. Hiding behind her bravado seemed easier than trying to discuss it sensibly with him, so she had channelled all her energies into solving the case in the hope that the familiar rhythms of an investigation would somehow put them back on their original footing.

'So much for that brilliant plan!' she thought disgustedly. It appeared that there would be no return to anything between her and Jack.

Phryne was pulled from her thoughts by the discrete footsteps of Mr Butler. She looked up to find him regarding at her with concern, a question clearly on his lips, but she feared it was possibly beyond her ability to respond to any questions without bursting into tears so she dismissed him with an urgent shake of her head.

Left alone again in the parlour, she made one more attempt to gather her rapidly fraying edges together, and poured herself another drink with a bitter laugh. She was beginning to understand Jack's newfound penchant for drinking alone far better than she cared to.

'Damn him! Damn him to hell!' she cursed internally as she swallowed the burning liquid. Well, she wasn't about to go to pieces she decided. If Jack didn't want her company, there were plenty of other men who did. After all, hadn't she declared she wouldn't change? Even if she had said that reflexively, without thought, there was no taking it back now. Best live up to her resolution then… And if there remained a treacherous voice inside her head that was determined to remind her that other men seemed to have lost all appeal lately, well she could just as determinedly ignore it.

Slamming her glass down resolutely, Phryne stalked up the stairs to her room. Her resolve lasted until she laid her head on her pillow and the awful reality of Jack's loss began to press down on her. Helpless in the face of her distress she gave over to tears for the first time since the terrible day she had finally recovered Janey's body.

Tomorrow she would be strong again, but tonight in the darkness of her room she cried.

X

In another bedroom, in another house, Jack Robinson was desperately trying not to give into tears of his own. It was bad enough that he had very nearly wept openly in front of Phryne, that he had spent the better part of a week trying to stave off tears every night in the interminable hours between shifts when there was nothing to distract him from the dark thoughts that haunted him.

Jack was sure he had been firmly in control of his emotions before he met Phryne. Rosie had often accused him of being cold because of his the tight reign he kept on his feelings during the worst moments of their marriage. After a time he had began to wonder if she was right. If the war had left him reduced in some fundamental way, blunted and no longer able to feel the things that others felt. He hadn't even cried when Rosie had left.

And then he had met Phryne and all the feelings come flooding back again. Ten years of clinging to numbness like a shroud had left him quite unprepared for the return of sensation. Sometimes he felt like he had no skin anymore, that Phryne had rubbed it away and left him raw and dazed and suddenly vulnerable to all the sharp edges that surrounded him. But he couldn't seem to tear himself away from her. Even the occasional stab of pain she caused him was a reminder that against all odds, life was creeping back into the hollowed out shell he had inhabited since he returned from the war.

So he let it go on, until he was forced to retreat or risk becoming utterly ridiculous. It wasn't that he didn't want to kiss her. Ever since his divorce he spent a good part of each day trying not to think about kissing her. But when she so gently tried to force things to a head, he had been terrified that giving into his desire would ultimately bring everything crashing down on him. Phryne didn't do commitment. And she had made it painfully clear that she had no intention of ever changing. So what other option did he have?

Phryne's dogged determination to pretend that nothing had happened had hurt nearly as much as the thought of her death. He supposed his reluctance to tell her how he was feeling was partly to blame for her seeming indifference, but he was as incapable of overcoming his reticence as she was. Every time he allowed himself to think about how he felt about her he was crippled with doubt.

Any hope of a future with her seemed foolish at best. Even if she hadn't regarded monogamy with such distaste, they belonged to such different worlds he often struggled to reconcile them. As much as she studiously avoided explicitly mentioning it to him, her money defined her. Not entirely, not fundamentally, but it afforded her the freedom she so assiduously guarded, it was her shield. And Jack had had his fill of feeling incapable of measuring up to expectations during his marriage; he had no desire to repeat that with Phryne.

Of course things couldn't go on as they were, as much as he would have loved to pretend they could. His feelings for Phryne may have jolted him back to life, but being confronted with the agonising prospect of her death, if only briefly, had left him incapable of clinging to his mask of impassiveness. After yet another sleepless night it occurred to him that the only way to salvage what was left of his heart and his sanity was to cease all contact with Phryne.

Standing in her parlour to tell her he was dissolving their partnership ranked up there with some of the worst moments of his life. The look of hurt confusion on her face had almost been his undoing, but then she had reminded him that she was not about to alter her habits to suit him and he knew what he had to do.

They had both made their choices. Now he would just have to find a way to live with it.


	8. Chapter 8

I guess at least they are talking again?

* * *

After such knowledge, what forgiveness?

T.S Eliot, 'Gerontion'

* * *

"I'll try to stay in step all the same."

They clinked glasses and eyed each other carefully. Despite her grin, Phryne felt as though she was still in danger of coming apart, but least he was talking to her again.

She had been surprised when Jack showed up on her doorstep, looking reticent, but without the hard aloofness he had worn during the case. Now with Mac gone, a sense of unease had returned that she was trying her best to disguise.

"You know the waltz was once considered so shocking that Byron was moved to write a poem celebrating the scandal it caused," Jack said, his expression still enigmatic.

Ah! The banter was back… "And what was it about the waltz that shocked the so called polite society? I'm guessing it was the close, rather than the slow part?"

"I would imagine so." His voice was warm, but his eyes still refused to participate in the smile that his lips were attempting.

To her surprise, Phryne found she didn't have the heart for their metaphorical dance tonight. Teasing and harmless flirting were usually comfortable masks for her, but the past week had left her feeling wrong footed and desolate. At one point she had found herself considering installing a marble column in her parlour so she could rest her head against it every time she needed to control her emotions. "Times change, Jack," she said simply.

He nodded in acknowledgement. "And I suppose we all have to adapt."

"Or embrace it," Phryne said, sounding more brittle than she had intended to. She instantly regretted her words when Jack seemed to shrink a little bit further inside himself.

Phryne's heart sank as she felt the distance between them start to edge wider again. Their truce was still fragile. Gathering her courage, she decided to try for some kind of honesty.

"I'm not used to needing to explain myself," she said softly and then cringed at how defensive her words sounded.

Jack shot her a look of alarm. "Phryne, I've never -"

But she cut him off before he could make any further devastating declarations. "Of course you haven't Jack, even when you probably should have. I just meant that it's been so long since I've had anyone who I felt I should explain my decisions too."

If anything, Jack looked even more alarmed by that.

"Miss Fisher, you don't owe me any explanations. I would never…"

Phryne smiled sadly. "I am aware that you would 'never' Jack. I'm just not sure I can live with your 'never'"

Jack frowned in confusion. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean, Miss Fisher."

He turned and stared intently at the fire for a few minutes, as if he expected the flames to reveal some great truth. When he finally looked back up to meet her gaze, the hurt and uncertainty in his eyes made her stomach clench.

"I don't know what you want from me," he said sounding almost lost.

Phryne swallowed trying to clear the lump that had just formed in her throat. That might just be the most nakedly truthful thing anyone had said to her. After suffering through the anguish of his rejection she was painfully aware of the precariousness of their partnership. She was also painfully aware that a life devoid of Jack Robinson held no appeal, so she took a deep breath and decided to take the risk of telling him things she had never told anyone.

"When my father inherited his title the relief at escaping the bleakness of our living conditions was overwhelming. I thought that having money and never having to go hungry would make me happy forever."

Jack nodded in sorrowful acknowledgement.

Just barely resisting the urge to reach out and touch him, Phryne offered a grateful smile for his solidarity. Even though she suspected he had never gone to bed too wracked by hunger to sleep, she felt he understood. So she continued.

"But of course, as I'm sure you know all too well, nothing can guarantee happiness, not even a lack of hunger or all the money one could ever need. That was a particularly bitter lesson." She paused, considering her next words carefully. It was important that she make him understand.

"Almost immediately after we arrived in England I started to feel horribly stifled. Living in Collingwood was hard and pitiless and I saw how awfully it wore on people. But being a poor grubby girl meant there were no expectations placed upon me. I never realised how free I had been roaming those awful streets until I found myself in a world where everyone seemed to want to change something about me."

"Phryne," Jack breathed, looking despondent.

"I'm not telling you this for sympathy Jack," she said stiffly. There was little she deplored more than well meaning sympathy, which never failed to make her feel diminished.

But Jack was not like anyone else, and her heart was lifted whenever she remembered that.

"So I ran. I ran from the awful finishing school my parents sent me to that was supposed to transform me into a lady who was acceptable to society. I ran to the war because I thought I was taking back my freedom." She laughed bitterly.

"Phryne," he said again, letting her name hang in the air.

She could hear the regret with which he imbued the two syllables of her name. Phryne had sometimes wondered if he would be appalled if she confessed she had run away to the war expecting to find a great adventure, congratulating herself on her bravery in reclaiming her freedom. Of course her eagerness for adventure had soon evaporated and she had spent the rest of the war convincing herself that holding the bloodied edges of terrified men together as the life drained from them was doing all that could be reasonably expected of her.

"Jack, it's fine," she said gently, mentally brushing away her memories of the war. She didn't know how to tell him that she hadn't really stopped running in the 10 years since, and it terrified her to think he might be able to see through her carefully constructed nonchalance.

"When I finally returned to England and my family after the war I was determined to never submit to any attempts to control me ever again. To think, feel, dress and act however I damn well wanted."

Jack's eyebrows rose in amusement at that.

"Shocking, I know," Phryne said fondly. "And thankfully my father decided to actually be reasonable for once, and he gave me control of my inheritance. So I took it and I found the cleverest advisors available and I made sure that I would never again be in the position of having to depend upon anyone for anything. That was how I dealt with the war"

Jack looked momentarily startled by the fierceness with which her last sentence was uttered. He reached out and fleetingly touched her cheek in the briefest of caresses. "The war," he said sighing. "It always comes back to the war. You dealt with the war by claiming back your life, I dealt with it by retreating."

"Oh, Jack…" The lump was back in her throat.

"'My mind is a corridor. The minds about me are / corridors. / Nothing suggests itself,'" Jack began

"'There is nothing to do but keep on,'" Phryne said, finishing the quote for him.

"You know that poem?" Jack asked looking wonderingly at her.

"Yes. It's a little obscure, but I'm yet to find another that sums up the experience so succinctly."

"Sometimes, I find it helps," Jack said cautiously, "to know I'm not the only one to have felt that way. It also helps when I need reminding that I made it out."

Phryne was in perfect agreement with that sentiment. "I'm all for what helps, Inspector, and," she smiled impishly, "I'm glad that your reading is not limited to Shakespeare."

"Shakespeare was my way of clinging to some shred of humanity in the trenches," Jack told her solemnly. "When I returned home I couldn't go back to the past, and I haven't been able to move forward. But I still have Shakespeare."

"Whereas forward momentum, mostly without the civilising benefit of Shakespeare, seems all I am capable of," Phryne said ruefully. "And yet, here we are, having somehow found our way to the same place at the same time."

"Miss Fisher..." Jack began, shaking his head in what looked suspiciously like fear.

"It's alright, Jack," she moved to reassure him. "I'm not looking to ensnare you. You have made your position on that perfectly clear."

"I never wanted to suggest that you…"

"I know," she said smiling comfortingly "and really it is fine, I mean that this time."

Jack looked immeasurably relieved by this.

"But what isn't fine, is not having your friendship," she declared, her voice wavering. " I will never be fine with that, so please don't ask me to accept that."

"I'm sorry," Jack told her, sounding as though he was afraid he would never be done apologising.

Phryne decided she had had enough of all this painful introspection. It really wasn't her style to be so full of sadness and regret.

"Friendship is all I ask of you Inspector," she said extending her hand for him to shake.

He took it somewhat hesitantly to begin with, before gripping it in acknowledgment. "Well, as your friend, I really should ask you how your ribs are, as I fear I neglected to do so when you first told me about Spall's attack."

Phryne closed her eyes in blessed relief for a brief moment. It pleased her more than she cared to acknowledge that he had remembered she had been hurt. "Healing nicely as we speak, Jack," she said as a brilliant smile overtook her face.

Jack returned her smile, even as he released her hand. "I'm glad to hear it, Miss Fisher." He retrieved his glass and raised it to her again.

Phryne returned his gesture with a flourish. And they began to speak again as friends, because they didn't know how to allow themselves to be anything else.

* * *

_The poem Jack and Phryne quote is 'Trenches: St. Eloi' by T.E Hulme. I have no idea how widely it was anthologised in the immediate aftermath of the war, but I liked the idea of them both seeking out war poetry as a way of making some sense of their experiences, and that poem is 'a particular favourite of mine'. I also liked the idea of Jack reading the imagists/modernists as well as his oft mentioned Shakespeare._


	9. Chapter 9

_I know this episode inspires some strong reactions, and I wasn't particularly fond of it either, but to paraphrase former Prime Minister Julia Gillard, I do believe that while it doesn't explain everything, neither does it explain nothing about our favourite couple._

* * *

She turns and looks a moment in the glass,  
Hardly aware of her departed lover;  
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:  
'Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over.'  
When lovely woman stoops to folly and  
Paces about her room again, alone,  
She smooths her hair with automatic hand…

T.S Eliot, 'The Waste Land'

* * *

"And what were your girlhood dreams, Miss Fisher?"

"I'm living them, Inspector," Phryne said with a grin, hoping that the whisky would stave off the fog of the lingering hangover that was making it hard to think straight.

Jack rolled his eyes in acknowledgement, and yet again she was grateful that Mr Butler had discretely ushered her latest lover out the door before he arrived. The only other witness to the aftermath of her evening of debauchery had been Raymond, who had been too preoccupied with setting up his equipment to take note of the half clad extra who was creeping down her stairs.

Ever since she and Jack had cautiously resumed their friendship, she had been waging an internal war with herself over her sex life. Or lack of it to be more accurate.

Phryne was firmly of the opinion that celibacy was not only unnatural; it was unnecessary. Taking charge of her finances, her household, and her fertility had been a gloriously liberating thing, and she had promised herself in the aftermath of the war that she would never deny herself a pleasure that could be safely taken without endangering or causing hurt to another. So she took her pleasures where she found them and balanced them with a passion for social justice that her upper class peers found equally questionable.

Men were usually at the top of her list of preferred pleasures. Phryne was aware that her liberal attitude towards sex had earned her a reputation with many as being immoral and of 'loose virtue', and frankly she didn't care. She had little time for the lingering Victorian attitudes towards sex she often encountered, and even less time for the way in which women were often demonised and victimised by those attitudes. If her money and status meant she didn't have to care what others thought of her, then so much the better.

And this had served her perfectly well until she had encountered someone whose opinion had come to matter for reasons she had never expected.

When she had first met Jack, she had thought him amusingly and exasperatingly moralistic in his outlook. But as she had gotten to know him she had come to appreciate and respect him precisely for those morals. All of this would have been perfectly fine if her feelings had remained fixed on respect and she hadn't developed a rather alarming yearning for him.

As Jack had made it plainly obvious he had no intention of indulging any of their yearnings, she had been left with a friendship that had become increasingly fraught precisely because of her longings.

So the previous night she had decided that if her pursuit of a carefree existence meant Jack was determined to keep her at arm's length, then she might as well have some fun because of it, and had proceeded to get far drunker than she had been in recent memory. She supposed it had been fun, but waking up with a clouting headache next to a man with little recollection of what had gone on the night before hadn't proven to be anywhere near as thrilling as it usually did. That was probably because she had immediately become painfully aware that if Raymond had arrived that must mean Jack had also arrived, or was about to.

Thank goodness Mr Butler could be relied upon to step in and smooth things over, while she tried to gather her dulled senses into some semblance of order. He had discretely suggested to the man in her bed that he might like to make use of the back stairs in order to avoid making a bad impression on his employer downstairs (the less said about the employer whose bedroom he was in the better). That delicate matter taken care of, Mr Butler had assured her that the Inspector was yet to arrive.

Phryne could have kissed him in gratitude if she wasn't so busy trying to pull herself together enough to face the rest of the world. And if she wasn't also so busy trying not to wonder what it meant that she didn't want Jack to see the evidence of her latest affair, given she had decided only the night before to stop letting her feelings for him stand in the way of her enjoyment of the opposite sex. She didn't have the fortitude to puzzle that one out.

Now in her parlour, she was almost able to ignore the fuzziness in her head in favour of trying to coax a smile from her dour Inspector, who miraculously seemed unaware of how dissolute her previous evening had been. She was just about to ask him to tell her some more about his boyhood dreams of riding the Tour when Raymond stuck his head in to tell her he had finished for the day and would be in touch later that week.

Her innate good manners and natural gregariousness would normally have dictated she encourage Raymond to at least stay long enough to share a drink with them, but she didn't really have the patience for small talk, nor did she care to deal with the lingering resentment Jack seemed to harbour for the poor man whose only crime, as it so happened, turned out to be having known her for longer than he had.

So she saw him out with a fond hug and returned to her parlour to find Jack standing by her fireplace, watching her with a curiously intense expression. She moved closer, expecting him to speak, but he remained silent with the same penetrating, unnerving look.

"Jack?" she asked warily.

After a few more beats of uncomfortable silence, he finally spoke. "I suppose you will be disappointed to hang up your director's cap, Miss Fisher."

His words were light enough, but his tone was unreadable.

"You know me, Jack," Phryne answered, injecting as much gaiety into her voice as she could muster, "always on to the next adventure."

Jack nodded in grim acknowledgment and said "Yes, quite," in the sort of tight voice that made Phryne's heart sink. He continued to stare at her for a few moments, before finally looking away and murmuring in a voice so soft she had to strain her ears to hear it, "I encountered one of your actors making use of your back door as I was passing through your kitchen to give Dot a message from Collins."

Oh. "Jack." Phryne said simply, because how else did she respond to that? A small voice in her head furiously whispered that a reasonable response would be to remind him that it was none of his business, but she ignored it, held her breath and waited to see what else he would say. The fact he was openly challenging her about it was rather startling.

Phryne watched as a struggle played out across his troubled features. For a terrifying moment she thought he was going to walk out on her again, and she didn't know how she would bear it if he did, but she couldn't seem to form any words that would make him stay.

"I know," Jack, said finally, sounding wounded, "that it is none of my business."

"Jack." It seemed repeating his name was all she was capable of.

He shook his head. "It's not my business Phryne, we both know that." He looked as though not being able to take offence at her sleeping with another man was possibly the most upsetting thing he could imagine at that point in time.

"Perhaps because you so determinedly decided that you didn't want it to be any of your business." Phryne was unable to keep the resentment from her voice. She supposed she was being cruel, but the overwhelming confusion and uncertainty that haunted their relationship was wearing at her.

Jack closed his eyes briefly and nodded. "That I most certainly did, Miss Fisher," he acknowledged. He looked up at her and she almost flinched at the unguarded traces of pain in his eyes. "But it can't have escaped your notice that the chances of me crossing paths with him this morning were rather high. Was that your intention, Miss Fisher? Did you want me to see that?"

Phryne swallowed. For all her bravado there were still some things that terrified her. Being asked to explain herself and her emotions was one of them. The thought that she might irretrievably damage Jack's opinion of her was another. "I'm not quite sure what to say," she admitted.

Jack looked away from her again, and Phryne wasn't sure what was worse – being pinned by his pitiless, searching gaze, or standing in the shadow of his disapproval. "I don't know," she said finally, feeling like a child receiving a dressing down. "It wasn't something I was thinking about in the moment."

Jack rolled his eyes in exasperation, in the dismissive way of his. "Of course not, Miss Fisher."

Phryne felt her irritation rise to the surface. Who was he to demand that she justify her private life to him? Clearly she had failed rather miserably at keeping it private in this instance, but being taken to task for her choices, especially when she was less than sanguine about those choices, never failed to raise her ire.

"And what would you have me do, Jack?" she asked gravely, her eyes flashing. When Jack did not seem inclined to answer, her indignation was nudged up another notch. "You don't want to have me, but you don't want anyone else to have me either? Is that what this is about?"

Jack looked horrified by the very suggestion. "Of course not!"

"What else am I to think, Jack?" Phryne was nearly shouting at him now. "You tell me that you would never ask me to change -"

"After you reminded me you had no intentions of changing," he interjected.

Phryne desperately wanted to respond to that with some cutting comment of her own, anything to wipe the calm, sure expression from his face. What made him so certain he held a monopoly on the high moral ground? Always they came back to this muddy ditch of uncertainty they seemed to be stuck in. They were unable to go forward and could see no way back, and most disturbingly, were seemingly unable to detangle or detach themselves. It was maddening and it made her want to scream, but something held her back from making any irrevocable declarations or decisions.

"I was unaware you wanted anything from me that required any change on my part, Inspector," she said furiously.

Jack seemed rather put out by that. "Maybe you are not the only one incapable of change, Miss Fisher," he said quietly.

Phryne felt as though that one simple admission had knocked all the air from her lungs. So this was what it came down to then? Both of them too stubborn to try and find a way past 'no' and neither of them capable of actually saying any of the words that needed to be said.

"I wasn't trying to manipulate you," Phryne said finally, with every ounce of sincerity she possessed. "I really wasn't."

He gave a barely perceptible nod, but his eyes held hers.

"Although," she continued with a self-deprecating grimace, "I can understand why it may have seemed that way."

Jack's nodded again, this time in resigned acknowledgement at her admission and Phryne felt like crying. She sat down on one of her velvet chairs and looked blinking and unseeing at the floor in front of her.

"Phryne?"

She looked up to see him regarding her with concern that had softened the sharp angles of his face.

"I'm not trying to punish you Jack."

"Phryne, I -" He looked like he had been pulled apart and was having trouble reassembling his torn pieces. "I didn't know what to think, after everything," he trailed off.

Funny, thought Phryne, how easily he had managed to subvert all her thoughts. Anger had been chased away by sadness at the thought he might remove himself from her life again. Defiance was replaced by an overwhelming and surprising desire to explain, to apologise. She remembered having access to defences at some point, but they all appeared to have fled. Along with reason, and sense it would seem.

"Is this how we are to be now Jack?" she asked sadly. "Constantly bruising feelings for which we need to apologise for?"

"I sincerely hope not, Miss Fisher," Jack said emphatically.

"How do we get past this then? I don't know where to begin anymore."

A heavy silence stretched between them that Jack didn't seem inclined to fill. Phryne sighed, and was just about to suggest that given how tired and out of sorts she currently felt, perhaps things might seem better after a good night's sleep, when Jack's face brightened.

"You know Miss Fisher, I recall making you a promise you are yet to hold me to."

Phryne tilted her head curiously at him. "A promise?"

He smiled. "It's unlike you to forget, Miss Fisher," he teased.

"I'm afraid in this instance I have, Jack."

"And here I thought you had decided to grant me a reprieve."

Phryne smiled back. "I can't very well grant you a reprieve for something I seem to have forgotten, Jack."

"Hugh mentioned some time ago that he had accompanied Miss Williams on a particular errand."

Understanding dawned on Phryne's features. "Knowing Hugh, I'm guessing he was unable to keep the details of that errand from you," she said wryly.

"He did mention that he and Miss Williams had gone to collect a bicycle for you."

Phryne laughed. "Indeed they did, but I'm afraid it has since sat in my garden shed gathering dust."

"And yet you haven't sought my help in putting to use?" Jack prompted.

"Well," Phryne said standing back up, "given how alarming you appeared to find the idea when I first suggested it, I was waiting for the right time to bring it up again."

Jack's smile broadened. "I'm impressed with your restraint, Miss Fisher. Or could it be," and his grin turned just a bit devilish, "that you are afraid of this, doubtless impossibly shiny new bicycle that is collecting dust in your shed?"

Phryne wasn't sure whether to be offended or diverted by that, but she never could resist a challenge. "I'm not afraid, Jack," she said tilting her chin up and raising an eyebrow, 'but I did get the impression that you were."

Jack blanched slightly and Phryne cringed, belatedly aware of the potentially fraught implications of her words.

Happily, Jack did not seem any more inclined than she to pursue that line of thought. 'No time like the present? There should be just enough light left for a quick lesson," he said nodding his head in the vague direction of the window.

"Jack, that sounds like a challenge," she said with a cheeky grin.

"If you like."

Phryne was charmed by his playful smile. The thought that she would be willing to give up many things for him to smile at her like that, tease her like that more often, rose unbidden. She pushed it firmly down. "In that case, Jack, let me get changed."

She was pleased to note when she opened her bedroom door that all evidence of the previous night had been removed or tided away. Taking a moment to sit on her bed and look around, Phryne felt curiously relieved that her room had been restored to its usual state. Whether by Mr Butler, or the equally loyal Dot, she couldn't say, but she was grateful to her staff for helping to erase the evidence of what was fast becoming in her mind a distasteful incident.

Phryne squeezed her eyes shut and absentmindedly ran her hand across her bedspread. She was not at all comfortable with the idea of any shame being associated with her sexual exploits. In fact, she had worked hard in the years since the war to avoid feeling shame, despising it - much like regret - as a wasted emotion. But for the first time in longer than she could remember, she actually wished she could go back and undo something.

Sighing, she shook her head and came to a conclusion. Time to put it behind her, and attempt to do the same with Jack. Smiling with this new resolution, she strode to her closet and fetched her travelling coat, hat and gloves. She was still smiling as she tripped gracefully down the stairs, pausing in the entrance to don her coat and hat.

"Coming, Jack?" she called cheerfully over her shoulder.

"Interesting choice of cycling attire, Miss Fisher," Jack observed as he joined her.

"Change of plans, Jack. While I was upstairs I remembered the other part of our bargain involved me letting you drive the Hispano, so I thought why not start with that? I'm sure we could both use the fresh air." She watched as eagerness he couldn't hide bloomed across his face.

"You are offering me the chance to drive your motorcar?"

Phryne nodded and gave him her most brilliant smile. "Can I tempt you?"

Jack pretended to consider it for a minute. "And where would you like me to drive you, Miss Fisher?"

"I'll leave that up to you Jack. Driver gets to be in charge."

"Are you sure, Miss Fisher?" he asked mischievously. "You may live to regret that."

"I'll take my chances, Inspector," she answered, grinning as she handed him his hat and coat. "Shall we?"

"Lead on Miss Fisher."

Phryne stopped him with a gentle hand to his arm. "Your turn to lead, Jack," she said earnestly.

Jack fixed her with the full force of one of his quietly searching looks. Once he was assured of her sincerity, he nodded eagerly and grabbed her hand. "In that case, let's go!"

Phryne gave herself over to Jack's sudden burst of boyish excitement as he tugged her through her front door. Maybe giving up some control, if only occasionally, was not such a bad thing.


	10. Chapter 10

Is it perfume from a dress  
That makes me so digress?  
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.  
And should I then presume?  
And how should I begin?

T.S Eliot 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock'

* * *

Jack put his glass back down on the mantelpiece, trying not to grimace at the taste. Phryne hadn't been joking when she warned him it was more like grape juice.

"Not to your taste, Jack?" Phryne asked innocently.

"I'm just taking my time to savour it, Miss Fisher."

Phryne looked inordinately pleased with that idea. "Taking time to savour things is not usually my style, but it's an idea I'm learning to appreciate."

"I'm glad to hear it."

They continued to gaze in open admiration at each other, and Jack found to his amazement that it didn't unnerve him in the slightest. For so long his almost overwhelming attraction to Phryne had invoked a 'fight or flight' response. Did he dare act on it now?

Amazing how one phone call could change things so much. Having Phryne actively seek his help had seemingly swept away the last of the lingering hesitation he felt about his feelings for her. Watching her risk her life again at the wrong end of a gun had been heart stopping, but he was ready to acknowledge that as part of loving her. Removing her from his life had not dislodged her from his heart; he could no longer cling to his justifications for keeping her at arms length.

Emboldened he reached out to cup her cheek in a move that was reminiscent of her actions the night he fled rather than kiss her. She gave a sigh of contentment and leaned in to nuzzle her cheek against his palm, covering his hand with her own. They stayed like that for some time, just basking in their first small step into intimacy.

Jack was just about to lean in closer to her tempting mouth, when he noticed the shadow of a thought cross her lovely features.

"Phryne?" he asked, his brow wrinkling in confusion. Alarmed at the thought he may have misread the situation, he started to pull back, only to have her hand tighten, firmly anchoring his in place.

"I kissed him," she blurted out, sounding almost distressed.

"Kissed who?"

"Erik Voigt. Well actually, it was more that he kissed me, but I let him."

"I see." Jack pulled his hand from her cheek and took a step back.

But Phryne wasn't having any of it. She took a step of her own, closing the gap, and took his hand. "It was the strangest situation, standing in those grapes and I was talking to him about his brother's death, and then he kissed me."

"Miss Fisher, I," he began.

"And I felt nothing. Absolutely no inclination to take it further than that kiss because my mind was full of you and the hope that you would be there in the morning."

Jack was acutely aware of how significant this moment was. Here she was, this maddening, impossible woman who he had tried so hard to avoid losing his heart to because he was scared she would break it, not apologising for who she was, but trying to explain because she wanted him to understand where he stood in her affections.

He tilted his head and smiled tenderly at her. "Are you telling me, Miss Fisher, that I have taken on some kind of precedence in your thoughts?" he asked warmly.

"I'm telling you that you have colonised my thoughts entirely, Jack, and I would appreciate it if you would save me the bother of having to kiss other men," Phryne said solemnly.

Jack gave a soft laugh, but he knew he would never have this chance again. She was offering her whole self to him, but only if he was prepared to accept every part of her, even those he might not agree with. He took the final remaining step and pulled her into his arms for the first time.

Phryne went willingly, melting into his embrace and resting her head in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. They stood wrapped around each other for some time, lost in the feeling.

Jack pressed his face into her neck and whispered. "I want to be the only one." He held his breath until he felt her nod, and her arms tightened around him. It was an amazing feeling; having his arms full of Phryne, to finally feel her under his hands and to inhale her perfume.

Eventually he drew back and gently nudged her face up to look into her eyes. He still wasn't sure that she wouldn't end up breaking his heart, and he wondered if she was as scared of this as he was. Surrendering to his attraction to her was possibly the most reckless thing he had ever done so willingly with the benefit of so much forethought. But he had long ago learnt to give up on the idea of certainty in most other aspects of life, so why should this be any different? Drawing in a deep breath as though it might be his last, he leaned forward enjoying the way Phryne's eyes widened in anticipation, and he let his lips touch hers.

The contact was electric – entirely too much and definitely not enough. Phryne made a muffled sound in the back of her throat, and opened her mouth to his. Emboldened, Jack let hands move across her back, wishing he were touching her skin instead of her clothing. He pulled her so her hips were flush against his, loving the feeling of her body responding to his. Their kiss quickly became frantic, as though each were afraid they would only get this one moment before having it snatched away. Eventually Jack broke away to lean his forehead against hers. They were both breathless with desire, both still clutching at each other.

"I think," Jack said when he had regained enough lung capacity to speak again, "that perhaps we should take this somewhere more private."

Phryne drew her face back to meet his gaze and smiled wickedly. "Inspector Robinson," she crooned, "are you trying to seduce me?"

"I believe I am, Miss Fisher," Jack answered, unable to hide his delight at the notion.

"About time," Phryne said with satisfaction. She took his hand again and drew him from the room.

They paused side-by-side, hand in hand, and regarded the stairs as though they led to some undefined, still slightly intimidating destination. Phryne turned slightly and caught Jack's gaze. "You're sure?" she asked looking tentative, as though she feared he might flee at any moment.

Jack nodded, gave her the full benefit of a rare, broad smile and said without equivocation, "I am." They stood beaming at each other, savouring the moment; and then, in complete accord they ascended the stairs to her bedroom.

XXX

Feeling utterly sated and content, Jack reached out and ran a lazy hand down Phryne's spine, gently caressing each vertebra as his fingers encountered it, until the woman in question opened her eyes and smiled up at him.

"You are looking entirely too pleased with yourself," she teased, her own hands searching out parts of him previously denied to her.

"That is probably because you have now thoroughly corrupted me, Miss Fisher," Jack said, propping himself up on an elbow and tracing a gentle finger across her cheek with a reverence that belied the playfulness of his words.

"Mmmm," Phryne murmured wrapping her arm around his neck and tugging him closer. "And do you still fear eternal damnation?" she asked, pulling him in for a kiss.

Jack regarded her seriously. "I don't fear hell. In fact," he said, taking one of her hands and pressing his lips to the tender skin of her wrist, "I'm quite sure I've seen what classifies as hell, and it didn't look or feel anything like this."

Phryne nodded gravely, before giving his side a playful squeeze. "I wouldn't let Dot hear you say that."

Jack huffed in amusement. "I can assure you, Phryne, I have no intention of discussing any part of this evening with Miss Williams," he said pressing his face to her neck, revelling in the absolute intimacy of being wrapped around her naked form, almost giddy with the knowledge he was now allowed to touch any part of her he wished.

"That's a pity, Jack," Phryne said with a wicked grin. "I think Dot might find it rather edifying.

"Phryne," Jack said frowning in mock annoyance. "I'd rather not discuss Miss Williams right now, if you don't mind."

Phryne laughed and stretched languorously, rubbing herself against him in a thoroughly distracting manner. "As you wish, Jack," she whispered sensuously, "but I do think Dot, and more importantly Hugh, could benefit from your wisdom in many things, our latest venture not least of all."

"Phryne," he said again, this time the warning in his voice utterly genuine, "must you spoil the moment by making me think of Collins?"

Phryne laughed again. "No I don't believe I must spoil the moment at all," she said cheekily, kissing him with obvious intent, almost managing to make him forget about Miss Williams and Collins and everything else entirely. "But it is rather fun teasing you, all the same."

"I don't doubt it." Jack said, unable to hide amusement. Being with her like this was a revelation. Familiar like an evening bantering in her parlour, but achingly, amazingly unlike anything he had ever known. Joyous and wickedly enjoyable, but utterly serious and profound. Immersed in the warmth of her nearness it was almost easy to forget he had ever been afraid of surrendering to his desire for her.

"I _am_ rather pleased you have proven me right," Phryne said pressing even closer.

"Proven you right?" Jack asked, tangling his legs with hers.

"Yes," Phryne breathed, resting her cheek on his shoulder. "I've often thought it would feel amazing to have your arms wrapped around me without any layers between us, and I was right."

The thought that she had imagined his arms around her, that she had pictured them together like this threatened to overwhelm Jack. Unable to form any words in response, he settled for letting his lips communicate his feelings in other ways and found that yet again Phryne was completely in accord with him.

Some time later, floating in a blissful state between wakefulness and sleep, it occurred to Jack that if he allowed himself to drift off, he would have to run the gauntlet of Phryne's household in the morning and he wasn't sure he was ready for that. He reluctantly started to pull gently away from her.

Phryne made a low noise of disapproval and attempted to pull him back to her. "Where do you think you are going?" she asked sleepily.

"I'm about to fall asleep, so I thought I should go home."

Awake now, Phryne pushed herself up and captured his eyes with a penetrating stare. "And why would you feel the need to do that?" Her voice held a hint of warning.

Jack swallowed, searching for the words to explain his sudden need to retreat. "It's just that spending the night here would mean…" he trailed off, but her gaze did not waver.

"Are you ashamed of this?" she asked sounding so heartbroken by the thought that Jack was instantly remorseful.

"Of course not," he said, gathering her back into a fierce hug. "I was just thinking of your staff."

"What do they have to do with anything?" Phryne asked, genuinely confused.

"I've never spent the night with someone like this, and waking up here would mean facing Mr Butler and Miss Williams and knowing that they know," Jack said, embarrassed. He was sure he must sound ridiculously uptight and Victorian, but he didn't know how he could creep from her room in the morning and maintain any semblance of dignity if he encountered either of the other members of her household.

To his relief Phryne's expression softened into one of understanding. "Jack, my staff are here to serve, not to judge," she said softly, rubbing a reassuring hand along his shoulder and bicep. "I can assure you that you will lose no standing in their eyes if they find themselves serving you breakfast in the morning." She looked at him imploringly, before continuing with a saucy grin, "in fact, I rather suspect they have been expecting you."

Jack's eyes widened at that, but then he paused to consider her words more closely. "Your staff have been expecting me?" he asked curiously.

Phryne smiled. "Yes, and I have been hoping," she said with such naked honesty that Jack couldn't help but be touched. Phryne reached out and cupped his cheek lovingly. "Please stay," she entreated and Jack was struck by how vulnerable she looked.

Suddenly the need to protect his dignity seemed much less important than his desire to hold her for the rest of the night. So he lay back down beside her, folded her into his arms, pressed a grateful kiss into her hair and let himself relax into sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

For my surrounding air hath a new lightness;  
Slight are her arms, yet they have bound me straitly  
And left me cloaked as with a gauze of æther;  
As with sweet leaves; as with subtle clearness.  
Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness

Ezra Pound, 'A Virginal'

* * *

Of course Jack played the piano. Phryne wondered why she had never considered it before. Had she been aware of this talent he had been hiding from her she would have done her best to cajole him into playing for her long ago, although she suspected he would have been reluctant to show her this side of him before now.

The past few weeks had surprising, terrifying and wonderful. Phryne had always feared that allowing one person to have that kind of presence in her life would be a suffocating and stultifying thing but being with Jack, having him show her all the pieces of himself he had previously kept so carefully hidden from her felt like waking up after a very deep sleep. It was a feeling that made her want to grab hold of him and not let go.

Although she had often told herself that her desire for her Inspector was purely carnal, the biggest revelation had been how much she relished just being in his presence during quite moments like this. Being able to reach out and touch him whenever she felt like it, hold his hand, or ruffle his hair, kiss him or feel his arms around her made all the other pleasures of her previously listless life seem pale in comparison. She no longer had to deny herself any of part of him and it was magnificent.

Phryne leant against Jack as he absently started playing again, enjoying watching his hands move lazily across the keys. "Well," she said grinning suggestively. "I was already aware that you have very clever hands, but I find myself wondering what other talents are you hiding from me Jack?"

"None that spring to mind, Miss Fisher."

"Clearly this is a talent you still take care to maintain," she prompted.

He turned slightly to smile fondly at her, his hands still moving with easy skill. "Are you wooing me for information, Phryne?"

Phryne smiled at his humorous reference, marvelling at how willing he was to accede to her gentle (and not so gentle) prodding for more information about him. Jack Robinson was the most fascinating thing in her life right now.

"My mother was a piano teacher," he said turning his attention back to the piano keys.

Phryne pulled back slightly and carefully regarded his profile as he continued to play. "Was?" she asked with slight trepidation.

"I suppose you could say she is retired now. When I was younger she used to teach young ladies to play the piano, and she insisted all her children learn too. But she had the most success with me."

"You were the most competent, or the most willing pupil?" Phryne asked, resting her head back against his shoulder, barely resisting the urge to sigh in contentment at being able to do so.

Jack laughed softly. "Probably more the latter than the former," he said cheerfully.

"You always did strike me as the diligent type, Jack" Phryne said, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder.

"I'm not sure that is a compliment. Diligence could be considered boring."

"No, Jack, never boring," she assured him, turning to press her lips to his neck, smiling when she felt him shudder and heard his hands falter at the at the touch. "Diligence is an extremely admirable trait in the right setting."

"Are you trying to distract me?" he asked, as he picked up the tune again.

"Not at all," Phryne breathed, still smiling against his neck. "I'm enjoying listening to you play, and just so you know," she paused to playfully nip at his tender skin, "I plan on enticing you into doing it more often from now on."

Jack stopped playing and turned to cup her face in his hands. "Everything about you is enticing," he said looking at her with almost heart stopping intensity. He leaned forward and kissed her slowly and deliberately, before breaking off to trail his lips down her neck in the same careful, sensuous manner, sending delicious bolts of sensation down her spine, causing her to gasp in pleasure.

He pulled away and looked deeply into her eyes again, stroking her cheek tenderly, favouring her with a beaming smile, before turning and resuming his playing.

Phryne whimpered softly at the loss of contact, but didn't protest. This was a game they both enjoyed playing – teasing each other with kisses and touches, but drawing it out, knowing that now they could give in and end the torture any time they wanted, the anticipation only serving to make things sweeter. "Your mother must have been an excellent teacher," she murmured, pressing back against his side.

"She was," Jack agreed. "And I was a particularly motivated student," he added.

Phryne looked up at that, raising a curious eyebrow, wondering if he would elaborate.

"The money she earned giving lessons to others paid for most of my education."

"Oh." He had her full attention now.

"My father was a Classics Master at Scotch College. That earned him some leeway on the fees and I was given various bursaries, but my mother gave lessons to make up the shortfall."

Phryne blinked. She had a hard time imagining Jack in such a setting, or equating him with the tedious public school bores she had often been forced to endure in England, but it explained the unmistakable air of cultured intelligence that separated him from so many of his fellow officers. "Scotch College? Aunt Prudence would be impressed!"

Jack snorted. "I'm sure." He paused his playing for a moment, and regarded the keys in contemplation. "I was very fortunate to be given such an education, but I must confess I hated that school."

"Your fellow students?" Phryne asked sympathetically.

Jack grimaced as if remembering, and started playing again. "It was like being thrust into a world I was never supposed to be a part of. They were the sons of judges, doctors and politicians, and I was the teacher's son who caught the tram in from Richmond. I spent most of my time trying to avoid drawing attention to myself."

Phryne squeezed his waist in solidarity thinking of the wretched school her parents had sent her to in England where she had spent a miserable few terms being generally despised by the other girls for her supposedly coarse antipodean ways before she ran away to the Western Front.

"But I did enjoy my studies and having access to all those books," he said sounding cheered by the memory.

"Just like Jane."

Jack smiled at that. "Except I managed to avoid getting suspended."

"I would expect nothing less of you, Jack Robinson." Phryne said, giving him a mischievous pinch.

Jack paused playing long enough to good-naturedly push her hand away. "I'll thank you not to assault me while I'm entertaining you, Miss Fisher."

Laughing, Phryne barely resisted the urge to poke her tongue out at him. She fell into contemplation for a moment. "Did you go on to university?" she asked after a pause, wondering why it had never occurred to her that he might have.

Jack shook his head. "No. I took the matriculation exam, but I'd already decided against it by the time the results came through. I'd had my fill of rubbing shoulders with the sons of judges and politicians, and I didn't want my parents to have to bear the cost of a degree I wasn't sure I needed, so I joined the police force instead."

Phryne wondered if this feeling of social isolation had been a feature of his marriage to Rosie who had presumably been raised to be at ease amongst the people whose sons had made Jack's schooldays so miserable. The thought of the loneliness this must have caused him tugged at her heart, so she pushed it away not wanting to disturb the mood of warmth and happiness enveloping them. Instead she said, "I really do think I will miss Archibald Jones."

Jack turned and faced her straddling the piano bench. "Is that so?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her.

"Mmmm," Phryne said kissing him softly. "If only for the charming way in which he requested my assistance."

"It wasn't Archie who requested your help with the case," Jack said solemnly.

Phryne felt inexplicably moved by that. Although their partnership was one that she treasured, she still sometimes felt like an unasked for intruder in his investigations, and she hadn't found the courage to ask him how he felt about the recent changes in their relationship – she wasn't sure what kind of answers she wanted from him. Nor was she sure how she would respond if he asked the same of her. Brushing away her uncertainty, she kissed him more firmly, trailing her lips across his jaw to nibble on his earlobe, enjoying his sharp intake of breath. For all her experience with men, it was still an astonishing and beautiful thing to feel Jack Robinson responding to her touch.

"Well in that case, Jack Robinson," she whispered, inhaling his scent, "it might interest you to know that both Dot and Mr Butler have the day off tomorrow."

"And why would that interest me?" Jack asked breathlessly.

"Because," she said insinuating her hands beneath his vest and tugging on his shirt to feel his skin, "it means that should you decide to join me for the night, you won't have to worry about having to face either of them in the morning. In fact, we will be all alone."

Jack captured her mouth in a fierce kiss. "When you put it like that, how can I refuse?" he asked when they came up for air. He pulled them both to their feet and continued to kiss her.

Phryne gave an appreciative groan against his mouth and pushed his jacket from his shoulders. "Shall we go upstairs then?"

XXXX

Jack woke the next morning to see Phryne pushing open the bedroom door while balancing a heavily laden breakfast tray. When she saw he was awake, she gave him a brilliant smile, set the tray down, and draped herself across his chest for a kiss.

"Good morning, Jack," she said cheerfully. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did," Jack said, his voice still scratchy from sleep, "I can't remember the last time I slept this late. You must have thoroughly exhausted me." He pulled her back down for another kiss, enjoying the feeling of her silk clad body sliding over his. He was just about to draw her under the covers with him when she drew back, laughing.

"Well perhaps I can restore you with some sustenance," she said gesturing to the tray beside the bed.

Jack's eyebrows rose. "Did you make me breakfast, Phryne?" he asked dubiously.

"As you see, Jack," she said, then laughed at the doubt creasing his brow. "I'm not completely incapable of simple household tasks, I'll have you know. I just prefer to avoid them where possible."

He sat up, as she moved off him to arrange the food on the small breakfast table that had been set up at the foot of her bed. Grabbing his shorts he rose to collect the robe that Phryne kept on hand for him and marvelled at how easily he seemed to have been absorbed into her household.

"I'm impressed," he said joining her at the table and picking up the napkin she had laid out before him.

"You might want to reserve judgement until you've tried it," she said handing him a cup of tea, and taking his plate to fill it. "Only eggs and toast, I'm afraid, as anything more complicated was beyond me. I do acknowledge my limits sometimes." She grinned and placed his plate down in front of him with a flourish.

"I'm happy to hear it," Jack said with a cheeky smile, before setting upon his food with a hunger that promised not to be discriminating.

Some time later they made their way downstairs to clear away the dishes. Jack found himself in the unexpected position of helping Phryne to wash up at her sink. It was actually rather relaxing, falling into the rhythms of the everyday with her. "This is very domestic of us," he observed happily, then immediately regretted bringing Phryne's attention to the mundaneness of the situation.

These past weeks he had assiduously avoided engaging her in any kind of discussion about the direction of their relationship, preferring instead, as ever, to let her pull him along in her wake, hungry for every moment of happiness she gave him. And it had been pure bliss to spend so many nights in her arms, to no longer deny himself the pleasure of her presence or her touch. The painful loneliness he had often felt since the war did not haunt him when allowed himself to delight in her presence.

But he still felt as though he was holding his breath waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Phryne to decide she was tired of limiting herself to just one man. The realisation that he no longer had any hope of protecting himself from the crushing blow of her withdrawal should it come ought to have terrified him, but he was too busy basking in the joyousness that was Phryne. So he had resigned himself to living in some kind of suspended animation with her in the hope that it would go on indefinitely. He bit his lip and gave her a sidelong glance, nervously gauging her response to his comment.

"It's surprising how enjoyable even the most tedious of tasks can be when you have the right person next to you," she said as he handed her the last plate.

Jack felt himself let go of some of the breath he had been holding.

"But I wouldn't want to make a habit of spending all my time with you doing housework. I think we both crave more excitement than that."

Jack laughed. He couldn't disagree with that, so he drew her closer, his mind already full of other ways they could be spending their time. "Well I don't know about excitement, but the fact that we were forced to clean up after ourselves because your staff are absent for the day could have some interesting implications," he whispered into her ear.

"You make an excellent point. Perhaps you might care to explore them with me," Phryne responded, wrapping her body around his and pulling him into a deep, tender kiss, to which he responded enthusiastically.

Suddenly feeling an urgent need to feel her bare skin beneath his hands, Jack was about to suggest they return to her room, when he felt her draw him towards the kitchen table. Her intent was immediately obvious and Jack answered by scooping her up to deposit her on the wooden surface. He gazed down in wonder at the woman smiling seductively up at him, her hair tousled and her face free of all makeup. He was sure she had never looked more alluring.

"Exciting enough for you Jack?" she asked, arching her body beneath his in a way that made his breath catch in his throat. Touching her like this felt like having the whole world in his grasp.

"Always," he said tasting the soft porcelain skin of her throat. He felt, rather than heard the rumble of laughter in her chest and all thought fled as he surrendered to the thrill of being with her.


	12. Chapter 12

_Here I am at the end of my story. I know I promised you a re-imagining of all the episodes of Season 2, but the Christmas special felt like a stand alone episode to me, and I really couldn't see a way to situate it in the narrative after episode 12. Thank you all for being such a wonderful audience, and for all your words of encouragement and thoughtful reviews. This chapter got away from me a bit, but it turns out they had quite a bit to say._

* * *

'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.'

'The Waste Land', T.S Eliot

* * *

Even by her mercurial standards, it had been a challenging evening for Phryne Fisher. She was currently staring sleeplessly at her bedroom ceiling, trying to integrate all that had happened.

Phryne had thought she had seen the worst of humanity in the trenches, but tonight had introduced her to a whole new level of depravity. They had rescued four girls, but how many more had been sent to an awful fate before Fletcher's odious operation had been uncovered? The thought that they may never be able to recover any of the lost girls made Phryne sick to her stomach.

Her evening had also had elements of the absurd – the runaway convent girl and the infant currently sound asleep in her parlour under the indulgent watch of her Aunt Prudence definitely qualified as absurd.

And Jack… Phryne's heart had sunk when she had watched him take his ex-wife into his arms. Rosie, whose eyes had flashed with something perilously close to hatred when she had accused her of making Jack's life difficult. That one comment had managed to pierce Phryne's armour and expose her weakest point - her fear that Jack would decide that she was too difficult, too dangerous or too much trouble.

Phryne bit back a sob. There was no point denying it now – she was in love with Jack Robinson in a way that promised to change her forever. It was just as it had been with Rene – all-embracing and terrifying, but it was completely different because Jack was gentle and careful and his hands only ever touched her with kindness, tenderness or passion. Never with anger or possession. But did he feel the same? They had both been careful to avoid speaking of their feelings explicitly, preferring instead to communicate through more tactile means.

Phryne buried her face in her pillow and inhaled the lingering smell of his soap. He had been with her the night before. They had sat in her parlour trying to piece together the mystery of the message she had discovered in the penitence room, both avoiding speaking of ex-wives, Chief Commissioners or break-ins. She had coaxed him into to staying, drawing him up to her bed where they had clung together in wordless disquiet, exhausted and overwrought.

He was gone when she woke the next morning, which didn't surprise Phryne. He often crept from her house before dawn broke to go home and don fresh clothing, and it wasn't a habit she was inclined to question. She understood he needed that time to reassemble his armour before facing the rest of the world again. But she still couldn't shake the feeling of loss that she felt upon waking when she reached out to encounter a cold, empty space beside her.

The sense of loss only intensified when she found herself feeling as though she was battling with Rosie in her parlour for Jack's loyalty. It was strange to suddenly feel the need to justify her behaviour to someone else. But then she had realised that the only person who deserved any explanations from her had never asked for any.

Now, lying in her bed, unable to overcome her longing for Jack, Phryne wondered if he felt the same. Watching him comfort Rosie had made her feel exposed and vulnerable. For all that she would hate to admit it, she needed his comforting arms around her too, but she wasn't sure she had the right to demand that in favour of Rosie. So she had left rather than confront the idea that Jack might not be as invested in her as she was in him.

Now she was overcome by the need to feel him beside her, to have him touch her, kiss her and reassure her that he still wanted her. She should have been horrified by how needy she felt for a man, but Jack wasn't just any man.

Phryne jerked herself up with some violence. Lying here wasn't going to lead to sleep, that much was clear. Jack had obviously knocked on her door with the intent to tell her _something_ that her interfering Aunt had so frustratingly thwarted. Pulling herself out of her bed, Phryne came to a decision. She wasn't one to remain passive. She wasn't just going to lie around and wonder, she would go and ask.

Creeping down her stairs, hoping to avoid her Aunt, Phryne wondered if Jack would welcome her intrusion into his home given he seemed to prefer to spend time with her in her house, but she didn't pause long enough for second-guessing, spurred on by an overpowering need to see him.

Jack opened the door almost before she finished knocking. Standing on his threshold, barefoot and in shirtsleeves, he didn't look as surprised to see her as she had expected. They stood in silence for a moment, before he reached out and drew her into his house and into his fevered kiss as he flung the door shut behind her.

His arms surrounded her, pulling her desperately against him and Phryne yielded willingly. As much as she had come to talk to him, she also needed to feel him; aware that once they had allowed themselves to cross the line into a physical relationship their bodies had never failed to communicate the things their lips had been unable to say.

But she had never felt this kind of frantic need from him. His kisses were almost wild and his grip on her was very close to bruising. Disconcerted, Phryne pulled back from the kiss to look into Jack's eyes. "Jack?" she asked, reaching out to touch his cheek.

He brought his own hand up against hers, breathing her name as an invocation. Their eyes locked again. "I want you," he said simply and Phryne nodded.

He closed the distance between them again, kissing her in a purposeful way that lacked some of the earlier desperation, but that nevertheless made her knees buckle and threaten to give way. Phryne whimpered when he lifted her off her feet, and she wrapped her legs tightly around him, anxious to feel him pressed against her as tightly as possible, in complete harmony with the aching need that was emanating from him.

Their mouths remained locked together as he slowly walked her towards his bedroom, and then there was no time for thought as they clung together, trying to erase the terrible events of the past 24 hours.

xxXXxx

Jack lay on his back as his heart rate gradually slowed, still holding Phryne securely against him, reluctant to let her go for even the briefest of moments. He didn't know quite what to make of his behaviour since she had shown up at his door earlier. All the usual care he took to express his reverence when touching her had been swept away by an intense longing to feel her surrounding him, to have her kisses wash away the raw hurt and disgust the day's events had inspired in him.

He was pulled from his musings by the feeling of warm, wet drops hitting his chest. "Phryne?" he asked in confusion, shifting her away from him slightly so he could see her face.

She was crying. A sickening thought occurred to him. "Phryne, did I hurt…"

She gave a fervent shake of her head, slowing, but not derailing his distressing train of thought.

"But you're crying," he said hopelessly, bringing a hand up to gently wipe away a tear as it made its way down her cheek.

"I'm not the noble choice," Phryne whispered, looking at him with such resolute sadness, his heart started to shatter yet again.

"Phryne…" He tried to pull her up so he could kiss her, but she shook her head again, so he loosened his grip, wondering if this was going to be the terrible moment when she decided to leave his life.

"Being with me is not the noble or the right thing for you is it Jack?" She turned her face from his as though looking at him hurt too much.

Jack's felt a lump form in his throat at the thought of Phryne feeling undeserving of his love. He mentally berated himself for never telling her just what she meant to him, how much he treasured every moment spent with her, how much joy she had brought into his previously cheerless life.

Phryne turned back to face him. "I saw you with Rosie." There was no hint of hurt or recrimination in her voice, just a curious kind of resignation he had never heard from her.

He waited for her to continue, sensing that anything he might say at this point might only make things worse.

"She needs you now Jack. Possibly more than she ever has. And I've only ever made things difficult for you."

"Is that what you think?"

"Isn't that what you think?" she asked in a small, quiet voice, looking away from him again.

"No!" Jack said vehemently. He reached out a cautious finger and gently turned her chin so he could see her face again. This was important. He had to try to get it right. They had both left things unsaid between them for too long. "Phryne, when it comes to you and Rosie, there is no choice to be made." He took a deep breath, and stepped off the precipice. "I love you."

His heart sank at Phryne's sharp intake of breath and look of surprise. For one long, devastating moment he feared he had gotten it horribly wrong, but then a cautious hopefulness and wonder began to dawn in her eyes and she gave him what was possibly the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

"I love you too," she told him, sounding as though the admission both terrified and stunned her, but he understood. It was an astounding and fearsome thing to finally vocalise.

Jack decided that such a revelation at least entitled him to a kiss, so he ducked his head down and claimed it, rejoicing in her fervent response.

"What now?" Phryne asked sombrely

Jack kissed her again. "I don't know."

Phryne smiled sadly, burying her face in his shoulder. "I was hoping you would have the answers," she murmured against his skin.

Jack laughed. "I'm afraid not." He nudged her face up so he could look at her. "Phryne you must understand that the fall out from this case is going to be significant."

Phryne sighed in reluctant acknowledgement. Jack smiled regretfully. Despite the earth shattering nature of their revelations, it seemed there was to be no easy ending for them.

"Fletcher won't go down quietly," Jack continued. "I'm sure he will marshal the best legal representation he can afford, and I'm worried that his lawyers will use our relationship to their advantage."

"Why would they do that?" Phryne asked, alarmed.

"Because you are a civilian who involved herself in a police investigation, and I am the officer who let you do that. And because I shot him to protect you."

"None of which was outside the realm of your duties," Phryne pointed out. "Well," she added with one of her customary cheeky grins, "apart perhaps, from willingly involving me in your investigation."

"And there in lies the rub." But Jack couldn't really bring himself to regret that. The four girls they rescued that night might have been lost forever without Phryne's intervention. He hated to think what his inherent trust in George might have cost them.

"Not to mention the awkward position your previous relationship to Sanderson and Rosie puts you in."

"Yes, that too." Jack tightened his arms around Phryne. He squeezed his eyes shut, remembering the awful moment when he had realised that George had been covering up a horrifying secret and that Phryne was in danger. In a flash of blind rage, he had been tempted to beat Phryne's whereabouts out of Sanderson. Only the presence of Collins, and his fear for Phryne had enabled him to see through his anger long enough to hand Sanderson over to his ever-loyal constable.

"And," Phryne continued, unaware of his internal musing, "I suspect some of your fellow officers will not take too kindly to you exposing police corruption at such a high level."

"No."

Phryne raised herself up on her elbow and reached out to stroke his face. "None of this was your fault, Jack."

He leaned into her caress, allowing her to comfort him for a moment. "There are those who might not agree with you. And I can't help but wonder how long George has been in cohorts with Fletcher. How many innocent girls were lost because of my inability to see him as anything other than completely trustworthy?"

Phryne let out an exasperated breath, and placed her hand on his shoulder. "You can't blame yourself for George's deeds. They were his choices alone." Her expression softened. "I know this must be hard for you."

A small, traitorous part of Jack wondered if she really did know. Phryne had little time for police procedure, and even less time for people who exploited and abused the vulnerable. Would she really be able to understand the conflicted emotions that seeing George so thoroughly disgraced inspired in him? Or how heavily the horrifying knowledge that the man whose example he had sought to follow had proven so uncaring of the human cost of his ambition, would always weigh on him?

But then he locked his gaze with hers again and saw only concern, understanding and, most wonderfully, love, and he remembered this was Phryne. So he tried to explain knowing she would at least try to understand.

"The police force is not dissimilar to the army. We are expected respect the hierarchy."

Phryne raised an eyebrow. "Without question?"

"Almost," Jack admitted.

"But what about the independent thought and intuition required to solve cases?"

Jack smiled and pulled her back into his arms. He knew where she was going with this. His need to respect authority and procedure and her determination to cross every line put in front of her had been an ongoing source of tension between them. And yet, somewhere during the past two years they had gradually, almost imperceptibly started to influence each other as they found themselves drawn into the same gravitational pull.

"That too. But the chain of command has always been important. It's supposed to keep both the men under our command and civilians safe."

Phryne snorted. "Supposed to!" She pressed her face back against his shoulder and he could feel her shaking with barely suppressed rage.

Jack rubbed her back soothingly. He couldn't help but agree with her. For most of his adult life he had trusted the authority of people like Sanderson, believing in the good of the organisation they represented. While he had no interest in claiming any of that authority for himself, he had always mostly believed in the implicit integrity of his superiors, trusting that they were motivated by the same desire to serve that had drawn him to the force as a young man.

Now he didn't know what to think. It wasn't as if he was completely unaware of corruption amongst his fellow officers. It was not possible to get to Detective Inspector level without being witness to the perfidy of others, and as much as the thought turned Jack's stomach, he understood the temptation and pressure faced by other officers who struggled with the same poor pay and high expectations that helped drive a wedge between him and Rosie. But he had never suspected his former father in law of being subject to that same temptation. Or that he was capable of setting aside all scruples and turning a blind eye to the unfathomable suffering of innocent girls in order to feather his own nest.

The thought threatened to send him back into a rage similar to the one he had felt on the Pandarus, so he drew in a calming breath and tried for some levity. "Well, I would never claim that all police procedures are sensible. That was certainly a thought uppermost in my mind when Hugh came and requested my permission to propose to Miss Williams as per the _Police Manual_."

Phryne gave a huff of laughter that was muffled by his chest and Jack did his best to ignore the sensations this created.

"Hugh had to ask your permission to propose to Dot? That must have been quite the conversation, Jack. I believe I would have paid good money to witness that."

Jack allowed himself a chuckle in remembrance. "I can only hope that he managed to express himself with more clarity, and dare I say it, brevity when he was addressing Miss Williams."

"Poor, dear, Hugh," Phryne sighed. "I imagine he must be equally devastated by all this. What a dreadful way for the poor boy to lose his innocence."

"Yes."

It was just another a bitter thought to add to the evening's catalogue of horror, so they lay in silence, softly stroking each other, as if trying to find some kind of reassurance.

Eventually, Phryne pushed herself up to look at him again, her expression apprehensive. "Are you angry with me for ignoring your order to stay away from the docks?" She sounded like a child expecting a scolding.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't," Jack admitted finally, hating the look of hurt, followed by a hint of defensiveness that crossed her face. He really didn't want to have to have this discussion. He didn't know if he could bear being at odds with her right now. But past experience had left him painfully aware that avoidance was not an option if he wanted to move forward with her. And he did want to move forward, even if it was very nearly impossible to see a clear path right now.

Phryne, of course started to protest. "But Jack, I couldn't sit back and do nothing when I knew that Sanderson would do his best to thwart any attempt you might make to rescue those girls. The stakes were too high."

Jack was tempted to feel hurt at her seeming lack of faith in him, but then he remembered the torturous hour he had spent waiting to hear back from Sanderson before Hugh had uncovered the missing piece of the puzzle that had sent him racing to the docks, heart in his mouth, terrified of what he might find. He took another, calming breath before continuing.

"Obviously you were right to not trust Sanderson. I was wrong to do so, and I understand why you didn't listen to my warning to stay away."

"Jack…" She reached out to caress his cheek, her face full of regret and sympathy.

But he wasn't sure he wanted or deserved her sympathy right now, so he pressed on. "I don't like it, but I understand it, and God help me, I'm grateful you didn't listen this time."

Phryne nodded in grim acknowledgement. The moment held no triumph for her.

He still wasn't finished. "But Phryne, when I realised that you were on that ship somewhere -" he broke off when his voice threatened to crack, and a moment passed before he could continue. "I very nearly lost control. The thought that Sanderson or Fletcher might have harmed you, was enough to make me want to -" the rest of his sentence was lost when Phryne pulled him into a tight hug.

"I'm sorry too, Jack."

Jack didn't respond to that. What else was there to say? They were both sorry and neither of them could do anything to change how things had unfolded. As he lay clinging to her as if she was the only thing tethering him to some kind of reality, it occurred to him that they were both equally ferocious in their need to defend.

"Will the fallout from this case mean you have to give me up again?"

Her voice was still muted against his neck, but he heard her as if she had shouted.

"No," he said firmly.

Phryne lifted her face to him again. "But you said yourself that Fletcher's lawyers might use our relationship to his advantage."

"I know." There was no denying it. "And beyond that there is the extra scrutiny that I will be under from my fellow officers, ranking and otherwise."

Phryne lowered her eyes in resignation. "And your association with me has never been good for your career."

"I don't care about that. I have never been particularly concerned about career advancement. I am exactly where I want to be within the force, and as far as I can tell, my association with you has often aided me in solving murders, much as it sometimes pains me to admit it."

Phryne smiled at that, before sobering again. "But your willingness to involve me in your investigations has never endeared you to your superiors, or even to some of the men under your command, and the last thing I want is to make things more difficult for you professionally. I don't want to be another problem you have to solve."

Her downcast gaze tugged at Jack's heart again. He couldn't deny the truth of her words, but he had never let the opinions of others rule his life and he didn't want to go back to a world where loving Phryne was wrong. He reached out and cupped her face with both hands and tenderly rubbed his thumbs across her cheekbones. "Things will be difficult professionally for me because of this case. But they will be unbearable personally if I don't have you with me. I'm too selfish to give you up now."

He watched as several emotions passed across Phryne's face. "And I'm afraid I'm too selfish to let you," she told him before pressing an ardent kiss against his lips.

Her expression was serious again when they surfaced for air. "So how do we do this?"

Jack shook his head ruefully. "Truthfully, I don't know. I want to spend every moment I can with you, but it would be foolish of me to deny that the need for caution and circumspection."

"So we need to still keep this to ourselves for the time being?"

"Well, as much as possible. Speculation as to the nature of our association will continue to be rampant as it always has been, but I don't want to drag you into whatever it is this case is going to throw up."

"I think it's a little too late for that, Jack. I've already involved myself quite heavily, I would say."

"Yes, but I don't want your reputation to suffer because of it, or because of me."

Phryne laughed. "My reputation is mostly unsalvageable at this point, I'm afraid. Surely the material point is the damage I could do to _your_ reputation…"

"Well then," Jack said lying back, pulling her with him, "we have established that both our reputations are beyond rescue."

"Absolutely," Phryne agreed. "But I also concur with you about the need for circumspection. I don't want to do anything to jeopardise the case against Fletcher."

Jack could only agree with her assessment, even though he still had no idea how circumspection would translate into practice for them. But he wasn't inclined to dwell on it right now. She was here with him, and she loved him, and they would figure it out. Probably painfully and awkwardly, but he had no doubt they would.

Phryne spoke again. "And what about Rosie?" She sounded as though it was a thought that had been playing on her mind.

Jack pondered for a few moments before responding, he knew how much it cost Phryne to show any sort of vulnerability. "She is someone I will always care for, and I can't turn my back on her."

"Of course not," Phryne agreed.

"She's with her sister now, and I've no idea how she will react to all of this once it starts to fully sink in. Or if she will even want anything to do with me given the part I played in exposing her father and her fiancé. But the only support I will be offering her is that of a friend."

She lifted her head and gave him a searching look. Seemingly satisfied with what she saw, she lay back against him again and her hand reached for his. "You wouldn't be Jack, if you weren't concerned about Rosie."

Jack rolled on his side, so they were lying nose to nose, with their legs tangled. "Thank you."

But she still looked troubled. "Are you sure you want to sign up for this, for us, Jack? It could end up being a bumpy ride."

He kissed her softly. "I seem to remember a very wise, but rather infuriating woman once telling me nothing that matters is easy. And right now I can't think of anything that matters to me more than you do."

He watched as a brilliant smile beamed across her face. "I find myself in the unexpected position of not being able to argue with you, Inspector,"

"Let's not make a habit of it, Miss Fisher."

"I don't foresee that being a problem," she said happily and then yawned. "But now I'm afraid the events of the evening are catching up with me."

Jack buried his face in her fragrant hair as she drifted off to sleep in his arms. He was under no illusion that the days ahead would be difficult, but for the first time in years he felt at ease under his roof. Phryne was next to him and they would face it together.

* * *

_A/N - according to my research, the _Police Manual_ did indeed require that policemen obtain their superior officer's permission before marrying._


End file.
